Once
by Wends
Summary: A massive plot circling the activities of Romafeller and woven by the fingers of a deadly, scheming Quatre Winner catches Trowa firmly in its net. [TQ, hints of DH, rated for plentiful violence and suggestive content.]
1. Chapter I

Alright. Those of you who know me and my website and those of you on TQML will instantly recognize this fic. Yes, it's an oldie but it's a goodie IMHO, so it'll start off my postings. Maybe some r&r will give me the motivation to actually finish the nearly dead sequel. Bring it on. I can handle flames. Thoughtful criticism is appreciated, and the one-line 'I luv ur fic' brings enough joy to keep writing. :P

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam W in any fashion. Don't sue me. I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_BEGIN FIC_

23:14 Hours --

Everything had started off well.

It should have been nothing but a simple recon mission. Something he'd done a million times before.

The floor was hard and unforgiving under his bruised, beaten body as he laid still, reflecting on just what exactly had gone wrong.

19:00 Hours --

A mission without Gundam. A mission on foot. A data retrieval mission. A mission that should be a piece of cake.

Such were the thoughts running through the soldier's mind as he glanced over his orders before deleting the file and erasing his mail logs to eradicate any archived information, such as the IP address, of the computer and person who had directed him to do this particular stunt.

Walking to his room, he hurriedly looked through his weapon arsenal, selecting his most favored firearms and the equipment that would be most necessary to him. A 10mm pistol. A 6-shot revolver. Five 15 bullet, filled clips. A handful of extra bullets. Motorcycle keys. An empty data-CD. A ziplock baggie with jerky for the road.

Quickly stashing his items upon his person, he turned to walk out of the room. Stopping momentarily in the hallway of the quarters he was currently lodged in, he turned towards the kitchen.

Arriving in the happily lit room, he glanced quickly over at the person stationed on the couch.

"Mission?" he asked softly, his steely eyes boring into him.

"Aa."

"Hn. Luck to you."

"Thanks."

Turning away from the young man, he lightly laid his fingertips upon the arms of the young woman who had previously been cooking and whose attention had been drawn to him by his conversation with the other boy.

"Cathy, take care of him."

"Trowa... be careful, will you?"

"Aa."

Trowa Barton walked out of the trailer, never stopping to look back at the injured form of Heero or the concerned face of Catherine.

21:51 Hours --

Trowa's fingers nimbly danced over the keyboard before him.

Numbers and asterisks flashed rapidly upon the monitor as he strove to break the security codes that safeguarded the information he was sent to retrieve.

For the ninth time that evening, Trowa mentally cursed the white gloves that were a part of the OZ uniform ensemble, the cap that didn't set right on his head, and the dead soldier that was stuffed under a bush half a mile off base for being a few sizes bigger than him, thus making his newly acquired clothing an awkward fit. His fingers tromped angrily over the keys.

For a few moments, Trowa's eyes widened.

The numbers were swiftly being deleted and new ones were being entered in their stead.

'This computer's on a network. You know that. Someone's caught you and is trying to lock you out,' he thought, grumbling. Cracking his knuckles, he swiftly attempted to fight back against the intruder who was successfully deleting three hard minutes of work.

It was absolutely no use. Every time he attempted to delete a newly entered number, fifteen more would appear.

Trowa hung his head. 'Mission failure, I suppose then. There's no way I can beat this guy. Whoever it is, he's a pro. And he's probably already alerted them to my location.'

With a nod, Trowa agreed with his inner voice that was screaming at him to make his escape and make it now. The data, after all, was not as important as the overall mission he was sent to Earth to accomplish.

His attention was drawn back to the monitor as it flashed, the CPU beeping cheerfully and loud in the empty, dark room. Turning sharply on his heel, he stared with disbelief at the screen.

The code he'd been working on had been thoroughly broken, and his download was underway.

Which meant...

'Which means that someone else from the Rebellion is here.'

Typing once more on the keyboard, his concern over typos from the gloves gone, he replied to the alert box, posting one over the network to the connected CPU that had sent the message: Identify yourself.

The response came swiftly: _A friend. BTW, escape now. I've just tripped the alarm to give you the cover you need and I'll delete all evidence you were here. :)_

'A friend...?'

Frowning, he noted that the download had been completed. Quickly, he attempted to go after the payroll registrar to identify who exactly was employed at this particular base. Tapping his fingers nervously upon the desktop, he watched as the download time popped up onto the screen. Six minutes. Not good.

'One more file. I just need this one final file. Please don't tell me that this mystery person has already done what he promised. Please let him wait six minutes...'

His thoughts were interrupted when the alarm suddenly blared, the hallway lights glared red, and the rumbling and yelling of alerted soldiers rang through the previously still atmosphere. Scrambling, Trowa attempted to stop all the other applications that were running on the computer to free more precious RAM and get the download to speed more quickly towards completion.

23:16 Hours --

Trowa's slim hands flexed against the bonds they had been tightly constrained in. He was attempting to bow his body so he could at least get his fingers in front of his stomach instead of behind him where they were of little if any use.

Unfortunately, his shackles enclosed his arms from wrist to elbow, completely immobilizing him.

His shoulders and elbows were beginning to ache from being hyperextend.

Frowning, he shoved the discomfort aside in his mind, and continued his reminiscing.

22:08 Hours --

The download had been completed in 5 minutes, 43 seconds. Precious time had been lost.

Trowa cringed, listening to the alarm continue its banshee scream.

Just as he was about to delete his activities from the computer to hide any evidence that valuable information had been stripped from the OZ system, yet another message flashed onto his screen: _BAKA! Go! I'll finish up here!_

He nodded at the screen as the message wiped itself out. 'The person who broke the code for me is still here, eh? Fine. Let him deal with it.'

He quickly stashed the data-CD in his pocket. 'I can't afford to be caught. Maybe I can use him to cover my escape.'

Trowa exploded into the hallway just as a group of soldiers rounded the corner. He stared, facing them, his brain quickly turning in his skull.

"The intruder's not in here," he quickly reported, saluting smartly.

The apparent leader of the squad nodded. "Good. That means that he's in Lab 14. Let's get a move on, soldiers!"

Trowa joined the crowd as they jogged down the hall, his mind working overtime to craft an escape route.

First, he'd wait until they reached a side passage. Separating from the group would be easy. From that point on, he could conveniently lose himself in the installation, proceed to the hanger, and make it into the clear.

He had his disk. He had his data. Mission accomplished. All he needed to do was escape.

He barely heard the order to split and head to the back door of the occupied laboratory. Turning with the group, he jogged towards the alternate exit from the lab.

Something was nagging at his mind, though.

The someone that these soldiers presumed was in Lab 14 had assisted him. It was a fellow soldier, sent here by the Rebellion presumably, on the same mission as he was.

'It has to be one of those other pilots,' his mind quickly worked out as he jogged, readying his 10mm along the way. 'One of those other pilots.'

'One of those pilots who has immense computer knowledge,' he thought, his lips turning into the slightest hint of a frown as he recalled that the other person had deleted three minutes of his work and replaced it with the corrected code in less than twenty seconds.

'But Heero Yuy is with Catherine, recovering from his self-destruct attempt. He's too injured to move.'

'It can't be that Chinese guy. He doesn't seem the type to do data reconasence. Doesn't seem like the kind to sneak around behind his enemy's back for a minor technical victory. He'd rather confront them fair and square.'

'Maybe it's that braided guy. What did Heero say his name was? Duo?'

He barely kept from running into the person in front of him as they pulled to a halt outside of the door.

"Prepare to surrender!" the leader of the squadron shouted before kicking in the door.

KABANG!

Trowa immediately ducked as the sound of a gun discharging filled the air. The captain and the first three men behind him fell, all victims of the same bullet. Immediately, the OZ soldiers before Trowa opened fire into the room.

Peering carefully, holding his gun cocked and ready before him, Trowa stared into the shadowy recesses before him.

Computers sparked and exploded as bullets riddled the room. The sound of glass shattering rang even as an electrical fire sparked and roared into being, casting an eerie orange glow over everything within.

The silhouetted form of their attacker stood confidently in the middle of the room and raised the dreaded gun again.

Just as Trowa was preparing to shoot and defend himself if necessary, the other door of the room flew from its hinges.

"DROP YOUR WEAPON!"

Turning sharply, the small form faced the newest enemies to appear.

And realizing the wretched situation, the intruder's gun hit the ground.

Trowa, meanwhile, was staring.

When the figure turned, there was no braid being flung. There were no unkempt long bangs hanging to the face's chin. The sleeves weren't cuffed before the elbow, but rather buttoned neatly at the wrists.

It wasn't Duo.

Walking in with his temporary comrades, Trowa approached the individual. Stepping in front of him, he looked upon the person who'd assisted him and who was now to sacrifice his freedom for his escape.

Trowa's heart nearly came to a stop.

"Quatre," his lips said entirely of their own accord, even as his brain screamed at him for being an idiot.

Crystalline sea-blue eyes stared back, no single shred of shock evident in their depths.

23:20 Hours --

Trowa groaned as he closed his eyes.

Of course, he'd given himself away.

Why had he done that?

'Maybe the shock. You haven't seen him since the battle at New Edwards.'

He shook his head at that thought.

'Maybe because he was sacrificing himself for your escape.'

Hmmm. Closer. Trowa's brain tried again.

'Because you never expected to see the person who'd given you room and board in San Francisco and protected you at New Edwards again. You never expected to see that frail, delicate blonde doing battle outside of his over-armored Gundam.'

Very, very close. Heck, boiling even.

'Because you care about him.'

'Because he is your friend.'

Bingo.

Trowa groaned as he pressed his head against the cold, hard floor.

_tbc_...


	2. Chapter II

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

00:48 Hours --

Trowa had long ago lost track of time.

Laying in the smothering black shadows of the cell, he groaned, his head still pressed to the dirty, cold floor that lay below him. His arms had long since lost feeling, having been held tightly to his back by his shackles since his capture.

Only the sound of his breathing met his ears. Calm and steady. Deep.

Cracking open one eye, Trowa suppressed a sigh. It didn't matter if his eyes were open or shut. The information they transmitted to his brain was exactly the same. Utter darkness.

Instead, Trowa closed his eyes and focused on his body.

Immediately, he regretted that mistake as every injury he'd received as he was thrown into this cell came raging to life in his weary mind, flashing little white stars of pain across his vision.

Turning his thoughts once more away from his body, Trowa strove to focus his mind's eye upon something else.

The fate of the other young pilot who had also been captured

22:19 Hours --

Trowa stumbled as he was dragged into the brightly-lit cell. Raising his gaze, he frowned, his hands flexing slowly, testing the bonds that were clamped tightly around his forearms.

Glancing back, he frowned. The soldiers who had bound him entered the room, dragging their second captive with them.

Positioned before the entire group was one well-dressed officer. Standing tall in his dark OZ uniform, his black hair slicked back and framing a face regal and angular to compliment the stylish cape he wore to advertise his high rank in the OZ organization, he screamed of power and dignity. Dark brown eyes focused on everyone gathered, and slowly narrowed. "Johnson, Browens, stay to control the prisoners. The rest of you are dismissed."

With a resounding, united cry of, "Yes sir," the company departed, leaving only those five people in the room. Trowa stood uneasily, feeling the man identified as 'Browens' tighten his grip on his left wrist. Stealing a glance to his left, he noted that Quatre was in the same situation with his guard. Still, he kept his stance tall and proud, his eyes rock hard and his face stubborn.

Trowa had to fight his facial muscles to keep from smirking.

That one look at his companion told him all he'd wanted to discover. There was no way their enemies were going to wrest any information out of them.

Trowa was quickly dragged one of the two seats in the otherwise barren room. Being forced down upon the hardwood stool, he grunted his annoyance with the soldier behind him before straightening his position on the seat. The officer sat himself down upon the folding chair directly in front of him with graceful delicacy.

They stared at one another for a few moments before the officer opened his mouth.

"You wear the uniform of an OZ soldier."

"Hai," Trowa replied, nodding.

"Give your name, number, rate and rank, soldier."

Trowa's eyes hardened considerably. "Rodgers, 905258-A14. Rate, EWT. Rank, Private."

The officer raised a thin brow, his smile showing him to be thoroughly amused.

Trowa simply stared at him in return. He knew that information was viable. He'd made certain to memorize it off the identification card of the soldier from whom he'd gained his current uniform.

Nodding with satisfaction, the cape-wearing man inclined his head in the direction of the blond pilot in the room. "And your knowledge of him?"

"I know nothing."

"You identified him as 'Quatre', soldier. Explain yourself."

Glancing over, Trowa frowned. The other boy's expression didn't change one bit.

"He looks like Quatre Raberba Winner, sir. I was startled upon seeing him."

"Oh really. And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"Don't you watch TV, sir? If so, you'd know that this boy strikes a remarkable resemblance as well."

The officer grinned, seemingly getting quite a kick out of Trowa's answers.

Trowa, meanwhile, kept his face schooled in its stoic mask.

"I believe you're lying to me, Private," the officer quiet said, pressing his gloved fingertips together.

Trowa remained silent.

"Quatre Raberba Winner is not one for public appearances, nor for appearing with the media. Also, given the amount of time any soldier employed at this base has for indulging in television, I highly doubt that you have seen him in any of the few televised appearances he may have made."

Trowa's eyes caught the slightest hint of movement to his left. Quatre's stance had stiffened.

"Also, as I recall, Private Rodgers was a bit heavier set than you are, 'sir'."

Uh oh.

"Now you will tell me why you are here, and what you were intending to do."

Silence filled the room, as dark green eyes peered darkly at the man in the folding chair.

"He was following my directives."

Trowa and the officer turned as one, both setting surprised gazes upon the short blond boy who, until now, had stood silently.

"Do tell," the austere man said with a smirk.

"His name is…"

'NO! What do you think you're doing, Quatre?' Trowa's mind screamed in rage. 'You're going to blow everything!'

"Samuel Whitney."

'Eh?'

"Really," the OZ officer said, arching both brows. Rising from his chair, he walked over to the slender boy.

Quatre seemed to suddenly weaken, his face showing fear for the first time since Trowa had laid eyes upon him, his lips trembling. Taking a step back from the man who suddenly seemed to tower over him, Quatre's wavering eyes looked with what could only be called the highest degree of utmost terror and respect. "Samuel Whitney. Following my orders."

Trowa stared.

'He's acting,' his brain informed him. 'Look at those eyes. Fear on the surface…'

'But calculating underneath. He's acting.'

Trowa straightened as the officer turned back towards him. "Is that true?" the man's deep voice rumbled.

'May as well act along. I have no idea what he's planning, but it seems there's no other option than to go with whatever he's doing.'

Trowa let his frame sag, his face bow towards his knees. Thickening his voice with fear he did not feel, he croaked out, "Yes, sir. I… I was just following what orders I'd received this morning."

"And those orders were?"

'Damn.' He glanced over at Quatre for any sort of hint the boy could give him.

Quatre just stared at him and gave him the tiniest semblance of a shrug.

"To observe operations at this base and note your watch shifts to schedule our next attack."

"Hm," the officer grumbled, his fingers rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Turning towards the man behind Trowa, he nodded. "Browens, take him to the brig. Since we apparently have the ringmaster of this little operation in our hands, we have no need of him at this time. I don't want them conspiring together. We'll question them separately."

"Yes, sir!" the soldier replied, saluting before he roughly grabbed Trowa's arms and hauled him out of the room, paying no mind as the boy's feet entwined with the stool legs and sent it careening into his body.

Trowa paid careful attention to the passageways he was being hauled down on their journey, storing the information in the recesses of his mind for the inevitable attempt at escape he would be making later.

'Mission failure.'

'I lost the disk.'

'But giving up is not an option. I still have to make it out of this alive.'

00:59 Hours --

Trowa slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. His side was beginning to ache from being laid so heavily upon, and his shoulder was most certainly getting bruised from supporting most of his weight upon the hard concrete floor.

Managing to get himself firmly positioned on his bottom, he frowned, his head hanging loosely from the limp noodle his neck had become.

'What is Quatre up to? And why has he been away for so long?'

'How long has it been, anyway?'

'Doubt they left my watch on.'

'Damn.'

22:45 Hours --

Trowa grunted as he was thrown roughly against the wall of the cell, but managed to keep his footing.

He didn't remain in an upright position for long as a foot lashed out and swiped his legs right out from under him.

His breath rocketed from his body as his attacker's foot caught him sharply in his ribs.

"Just stay down," the nasal voice uttered. "Stay down, and we don't kill you."

He laid perfectly still, in accordance to their orders.

00:00 --

He remained perfectly still, his forehead pressed into the concrete, his fingers intertwined.

He was listening carefully to the conversation that was taking place outside of his cell between two soldiers.

"So you heard that these guys are from the Rebellion?"

"No shit."

"They're still questioning that little smart-ass. Cap said that something just didn't sound right with that kid's story. Keeps runnin' around in circles, giving him shit."

"And this guy here's probably tied with him, you think?"

"Yep. Probably end up stringin' 'em up together once we get a straight answer out of one of 'em."

"Why don't they try this one again?"

"'Cause the other one definitely knows something. Cap said that much was obvious. He's just running around in circles, trying to not tell us anything."

"Rat bastard."

"Yep."

"Hey, there's Cap again! What, this is the second time in 15 minutes he's needed a break, eh?"

"Hey, Captain!"

A new voice entered the fray. Trowa shivered as he recognized the voice of the man who'd been interrogating him earlier. "Hello, Johnson. Lesley. Is this one behaving?"

"Hasn't moved an inch, sir."

"Good," the captain's voice continued.

"The other one cooperating yet?"

Trowa listened with amusement as the man sighed in obvious frustration. "Not at all," he muttered. "He eludes to one thing, then completely abolishes any suggestions he gives with his next statements."

"Sounds like he's going to need some persuasion to tell the truth, neh, Cap?"

"Yes, he will."

Trowa frowned. He didn't like the sound of this.

"Get Sargent Waverly. He should be able to offer some interesting insight on what is to be done with this irritating little captive of ours."

"What about this other one, sir? Aren't you going to question him again?"

"Why bother?" the captain's voice grunted. "All of the other boy's stories point to the fact that this one is simply following orders. And the other boy was, after all, the one who managed to break into our systems. We have our mole in the interrogation room, gentlemen. Bolt the door, and leave this one to rot. And if we get nowhere with the other, then we'll consider letting this one see the light of day again for further questioning."

01:05 Hours --

Trowa closed his eyes with a moan.

He didn't have his disk. He didn't have any weapons. His hands were bound behind his back, and thus were practically useless. His side was aching from what most certainly was a cracked rib. What sounded like a high quality, thick deadbolt had his door firmly locked into place. The utter silence of the environment he had been trust into allowed him to hear the light scrapping of the boots of the soldiers who patrolled outside of his cell door. He was beaten, weary, and drained of energy.

Escaping seemed like an impossible dream in the crushing darkness of the hell his cell had become.

Laying back down on his back, his body screaming in pain as it was pressed once more to the unforgiving floor, Trowa opened his eyes to stare into the black air that hung above him, mocking his attempt to view his surroundings.

He was trapped more thoroughly than an invalid lion tethered in a cage.

He couldn't escape.

_tbc..._


	3. Chapter III

Wow! I didn't expect this piece to get any reviews. Thank you guys so much for taking the time to read the first few chapters of this overly complex little story of mine! (humble bow)

KITT! Good to see old faces! Glad you're rereading this hunk of a story. :) Makes the pain of plowing through it to find all my grammatical and formatting fiascos rather worth it.

Angst Faerie and YiyangYoung, I'm certainly trying my hardest to update as quickly as possible. It seems that doesn't like me too much right now. (little laugh) Glad you find this thing interesting!

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue me; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

02:30 Hours --

The darkness was becoming more and more oppressing with every passing second.

Trowa grunted, attempting for the fourth time within the last memorable moments to shift his body and loosen the strain on his arms.

It was no use. They were firmly pinned.

Feeling a sneer cross his lips, Trowa slowly shook his head. Even dislocating a joint, something commonly accomplished to slip from ordinary handcuffs, would accomplish nothing with forearm clamps. He was stuck. So completely stuck.

His mind ridiculed him with every passing moment.

'Me, the great enigma. He who doesn't have a true name or identity, borrowing that of a dead man. The invincible soldier who can escape from anything, using any guise. Laying on the ground, trussed like some Thanksgiving sacrificial animal, out of luck and out of hope. How pathetic.'

He grunted at his own mind's observations.

His eyes remained closed. They'd been closed for quite some time now, or so Trowa surmised. He'd been trapped in here for….

He didn't know how long. Hours? Or maybe a day had passed by now?

And still no sign of Quatre.

The conversation that had been held outside of his cell frightened him for some reason.

00:05 Hours --

"Sounds like he's going to need some persuasion to tell the truth, neh, Cap?"

"Yes, he will."

"Get Sargent Waverly. He should be able to offer some interesting insight on what is to be done with this irritating little captive of ours."

02:31 Hours --

Sargent Waverly….

Trowa simply groaned again.

His mind was raring out of control with suggestive images of the possible tortures the waif blonde could be suffering at that very moment in time. He could be under the stimulus of a drug. Or being raped. Or being burned. Or poked with hot needles. Or having small drops of burning acid coating his body. Or being pummeled into a fair-colored paste. Or…

Or he could even be dead by now.

Dead…

Trowa attempted to reposition himself.

Now his neck was beginning to ache.

Damn.

04:16 Hours --

Bang tap Bang tap Bang Bang Bang tap Bang Bang tap Bang

Trowa's eyes snapped open.

Darkness still met them, as expected. His mind unleashed with a creative string of curses as he closed his eyes again, focusing his mind upon his ears. He could swear he'd heard something….

Bang tap Bang tap Bang Bang Bang tap Bang Bang tap Bang

'There it is again!' his mind cried happily, finally having a distraction from the numbing still darkness he'd been incased in.

"Who's there?" he whispered loudly, intending on being heard through the wall.

One part of his mind snorted at him, telling him that there was no way the person who was sending him these messages could hear a whisper through the walls of his cell.

Bang Bang tap Bang tap tap Bang tap tap tap Bang

Trowa's mind spun in circles, attempting to figure out what the meaning of this was. A corner of his brain recalled hearing and knowing this….

Bang tap Bang tap Bang Bang Bang tap Bang Bang tap Bang

T. R. O. W. A.

'Morse Code, eh?'

"Who's…" he started to loudly whisper again.

Bang Bang tap Bang tap tap Bang tap tap tap Bang

'Quiet.'

'Oh, great,' Trowa's mind spat. Closing his eyes, he focused on the atmosphere again, awaiting those taps.

Bang tap Bang tap Bang Bang Bang tap Bang Bang tap Bang

They were coming from the right wall. Scooting towards it, he grunted, rolled over, and rested his wrists by the wall. Ignoring the pain from laying on his injured side, he lightly rapped his cuffs against the hard brick.

tap Bang Bang tap tap tap tap Bang Bang Bang tap tap tap (whos)

Pause

Bang tap tap tap tap tap tap Bang tap tap (there)

'Hmph. That should satisfy whoever's over there. Hope I got that right. My code's a bit rusty.'

Bang Bang tap Bang tap tap Bang tap Bang Bang tap Bang tap tap

Trowa's brain hurriedly deciphered the series of knocks.

'Quatre?'

Trowa nearly sighed in relief before hurriedly returning his reply.

tap Bang tap Bang tap tap (are)

Pause

Bang tap Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang tap tap Bang (you)

Pause

tap Bang tap Bang tap tap tap Bang tap tap tap Bang Bang tap tap tap tap tap Bang (alright)

Bang tap Bang Bang Bang

'No…'

'NO? He's not?'

Bang tap tap Bang Bang tap

'time. No Time. Ahhhh….'

Bang Bang tap Bang Bang Bang

'Go.'

Bang Bang Bang Bang

'To'

tap Bang tap tap tap tap tap Bang tap Bang

'Left.'

'Huh? What the hell does he mean?'

'Go to left…'

Trowa glowered at the floor that was to his left.

Then it hit him. To the left of his position on the wall, as Quatre would reference it. Which would be…

He started scooting his body backward. 'Better ask for confirmation,' his brain reminded him.

tap tap tap tap tap tap Bang tap tap (here)

Bang tap Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang tap Bang tap Bang Bang Bang Bang tap Bang tap Bang Bang Bang Bang Bang tap tap Bang tap Bang tap Bang Bang Bang Bang tap tap tap tap tap tap Bang tap tap Bang tap tap tap tap tap Bang tap Bang

'nomoronyourotherleft…?'

'No moron your other left.'

'Oh.'

Grumbling under his breath, Trowa scooted along the floor, tapping on the wall as he went.

He'd gone about three feet by his estimate when he heard a very rapid

tap tap tap Bang Bang Bang Bang tap Bang Bang tap

'Stop, eh? Fine.'

He stopped, and listened for any further instructions.

tap Bang Bang tap tap tap Bang tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

'Push.'

'Fine.'

Steeling himself, Trowa pushed against the wall with his nimble fingers. And, much to his pleasant surprise, he felt the wall slide away from him. Turning on his side, attempting to ignore the screaming of his cracked rib as he jostled his weight atop of it, he managed to get his head facing the wall, and carefully scooted forward, slipping along the floor like an inchworm.

It was a tight squeeze, but he made it through without problems.

"Quatre?" he quietly whispered as he tested the position of his feet and found that they'd cleared the hole.

"Here," he heard. It was really quite close by….

"Right in front of you."

"Ah. How can you tell in this pitch darkness?"

"Lenses, of course. I'll give you details later. First, let's get out of these cuffs."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"Roll over."

Trowa obeyed without question. He knew better than to disobey a voice with that tone of command in it.

"Now, can you feel that?"

Trowa's nimble fingers tested the area, and stumbled across fabric and a button. "Aa."

"Alright. Good. My hands are bound behind my back as well, so they're just as useless. If we're going to get out of this, we're going to need to work together, slowly and carefully. Got it?"

"Aa."

"I've got lock-picks in the front lining of my boxers."

Trowa felt his face turn a billion different shades of red.

_tbc..._


	4. Chapter IV

(whallops QuickEdit and snarls incoherantly at it)

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

07:30 Hours --

Trowa hissed quietly as the bandages were tightened once more.

"Will you PLEASE hold still?"

"I'm trying, Quatre."

"You're not succeeding."

"It's because I'm breathing."

Trowa simply gritted his teeth as the ace bandage was yanked again. He knew this was entirely necessary. He'd broken a rib. And he'd been considerably jostled on their way to this place.

Wherever this was.

They were currently in a dusty, dirty excuse for a single-bed motel room. He was resting upon a wobbly bed which sported naught but a musty, moldy-smelling thin mattress and threadbare sheets. The pillow below his head was hard and unforgiving as he let his skull drift back onto it and returned to the sport of staring at the cracks in the stucco-covered ceiling.

Looking over his smaller companion, he frowned.

The dim light cast by the sky outside of the room's filthy window did not make viewing his comrade particularly easy, but still it did nearly nothing to hide the immense number of bruises that littered his fair-skinned body.

Quatre's dark blue eyes caught his. "You're no better," he quipped.

'Eh?'

"You're decidedly in worse shape than I am. Broken rib, dislocated shoulder, bruises over nearly every inch of your body. Of course, you DID fall rather hard, didn't you?"

Trowa remained tactfully silent.

'Of course I fell hard, you… you were the one who took that jeep over the cliff…' he thought ruefully.

"And no blaming me, Trowa. I landed it upright. You just couldn't hang on."

Trowa's eyes widened as Quatre laughed lightly, patted his head, and marched off to the bathroom.

04:25 Hours --

"I've got lock-picks in the front lining of my boxers."

Trowa felt his face flush a billion different shades of red.

"Listen. Your hands are right at the button of my khakis. Just undo them, and…"

"I don't need instructions," Trowa whispered harshly, his lips turning to form a snarl in the pitch darkness.

'No, I don't need instructions. I need…'

'I need…'

'A drink. God. I'm going into another man's pants.'

"Then hurry it up!"

'Urgh…'

Trowa's fingers were known for their nimbleness and ability to respond exactly to the commands of the mind that directed them. Able to catch thrown daggers, able to caress snowflakes without damaging them, able to handle butterflies or destroy expensive champagne flutes without problems. They were known for their strength and gentleness. For their incredible agility. He was known for threading needles in less than a second, for solving Perfection on his first try, for getting screws out of impossibly small piloted holes in solid Gundanium.

And his fingers were failing him miserably.

'Work, work! C'mon! Work! How many times have you unbuttoned buttons?' he mentally screamed at his fumbling hands.

"Relax."

'Right, relax. We're in a tight situation. We are captured by OZ. We are attempting to escape. The only way we can escape is if we have use of our hands. Our hands, which are currently disabled because of these shackles. These shackles, which are removable, provided we have the proper tools. Proper tools, of course, would be keys or lock-picks. Quatre has lock-picks. We are retrieving the lock-picks.'

'So why am I making such an incredibly huge fuss about this?'

Whilst Trowa went bounding about inside of his skull attempting to rationalize with himself over the morality of what he was doing, his fingers somehow managed to get the button of Quatre's pants undone and unzip the zipper.

"Alright. Now in the inside lining of my boxers, you'll find a loose thread. You're going to have go get into them to find it. Once it's found, pull it. It'll tear away the seam… in that pocket is where you'll find them."

Reaching nimbly into the other boy's pants, Trowa bit his lip, his eyes narrowed with concentration.

Working by touch was such a pain in the ass.

His fingers slowly felt along the silk fabric, attempting to locate the button that kept the fly shut. His fingers grazed over the plastic latch and quickly pulled the simple clasp apart. His fingers snaked around the opening…

And froze as he heard Quatre hiss.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"N… nothing. Your hands are cold."

Trowa felt himself flush again as he continued his search. Shifting his body on the cold concrete floor, he attempted to better angle his hands to reach around the flap of cloth that danced teasingly over his fingertips.

He felt his cheeks continue to burn as his fingers brushed over soft, silky hair.

'Hooo boy…'

'What've I done to get myself into this mess?'

07:45 Hours --

Trowa let his emerald eyes drift open as he heard the bathroom door open once more. The acrid smell of Ben Gay filled the room.

Quatre's face soon obscured his view of the ceiling. "You feeling alright, Trowa?" he asked, concern evident in his soft voice.

"Aa."

'Once my head stops pounding, my side stops aching and my shoulder stops screaming Ow I'll be right as rain,' his mind spat.

"Good. I was afraid you'd be uncomfortable," Quatre quietly sighed.

"Why would I be?"

"These accommodations aren't the best for treating injuries or resting when hurt."

Trowa's subconscious smiled ruefully. 'No kidding,' it said.

Trowa, meanwhile, simply shrugged. "They're fine. But," he said as he slowly sat up, "why a single bed?"

"I wasn't expecting you to go after the Payroll Registrar."

"You were planning on being here alone."

"Aa."

An uneasy silence fell over the two pilots.

04:27 Hours --

Trowa's mind swam in pools of limpid, luxurious lusty golden droplets that were being strewn about like snow in a blizzard. His breathing, having come to a near halt, echoed in the cavity his skull had become, bouncing around mercilessly like a metal Ping-Pong ball propelled by jet engines in a steel pipe. His body felt cold and clammy, his fingers like overcooked spaghetti hanging from twin paddies of shapeless ground beef. A cold sweat was threatening to break out upon his brow, hovering right below the barrier that was his skin, sliding like ice on flesh along the muscles and bone that resided under his tanned exterior.

He was fighting desperately for control.

'Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't focus on what you're touching. Don't panic. Don't rush. Don't make any excessive noise.'

Trowa's exterior remained perfectly calm and composed.

"Left," Quatre's voice hissed softly in his ear. "And watch what you're grabbing."

'Watch, Quatre? Watch what? This pitch blackness that's hovering before my eyes?'

Swallowing, he moved his fingers from the limp flesh they'd stumbled across.

"Keep going, Trowa," the quiet, harsh voice repeated.

'That's right. All business. Thread. Thread. Thread!' Repressing a smug smirk, he gave it a tug. Sure enough, he heard fabric tearing. His fingers quickly fumbled with the fabric, separating folds of it, and found their quarry.

"Got them."

"Great," Quatre replied, his voice still perfectly smooth and composed. "Sit upright. Can you pick locks?"

"Aa."

As Trowa sat upright, he felt Quatre's cuffs slip under his fingers.

"Fabulous. Then get to work. We don't have much time to waste."

07:48 Hours --

Trowa took a moment and glanced around the motel room Quatre had condemned them to.

Cold, dirty, stark.

Those words were what rang across his mind as he looked about.

Nothing but a bed, an end table carrying a rotary phone, a dresser, a table with a chess-set and a lap top computer atop it and two chairs. Not even a television.

And, at the far end of the room, the bathroom that frankly looked almost frightening.

He'd stayed in worse.

Glancing over, he watched Quatre walk over to the table. Pulling one of the rickety, dusty chairs under himself, he smiled politely at Trowa.

"We have a couple of hours to waste before the next act begins. Want to play?"

'Why not? There's nothing else to do at that moment.'

And maybe he could weasel a few answers out of the blond boy.

"Aa."

04:30 Hours --

Trowa rubbed his raw wrists. Then he flexed his long neglected elbows and rotated his shoulders.

He felt Quatre's hand take his own.

"Get flush against the wall," he heard the boy whisper.

Nodding, he complied.

He heard the muffled explosion of small blast-caps to his right, and felt himself being tugged violently by his hand.

Opening his eyes, he hissed as the shock of light struck them. Shaking his head as he ran along after the platinum-haired youth to clear his vision, he returned his attention to his surroundings.

They were barreling wildly towards a door that was opposite of the cell they had recently inhabited.

Quatre released his appendage, turned the doorknob and hurriedly rummaged through the equipment stored therein.

Trowa's eyes narrowed considerably.

'Where are the guards? And why…'

'Why is a weapon-closet unlocked?'

His thoughts were interrupted as a .16 gauge rifle was shoved into his hands, along with a bag that rattled of bullets. "Take these!" Quatre hissed as he pulled a very familiar .357 Magnum from the closet's back right corner, yanking it free from under a pile of dusty tarps.

"Aa," Trowa automatically answered, already in the process of loading his newly acquired weapon.

Quatre turned and nodded to him. "Follow me. I've already got an escape route planned."

Trowa didn't bother attempting to refuse the boy. An escape route was already planned, and that was fine with him.

Running towards the door, Quatre paused for but a moment to turn the doorknob. They burst into the awaiting hallway -- and into chaos.

07:50 Hours --

Trowa slowly arranged the chess pieces on the board, all the while studying the smiling blond before him.

There were so many questions he wished to ask…

But for some reason, now didn't seem the proper time.

"Black or white, Trowa?"

"Eh?"

"Do you want to go first?"

"Sure."

Turning the board, Quatre kept smiling at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Trowa?"

Trowa's emerald eyes narrowed slightly as he shifted in his chair, attempting to get more comfortable. "I was wondering how it was that you already had such an escape orchestrated."

"Hmmmm… questions should be asked later. We're not out of the woods yet, my friend."

Trowa blinked.

His confusion must have been visible in his eyes, for Quatre simply shrugged. "If we are to be captured again, I don't want you able to give the enemy any viable information. There are other people besides you and I in danger here, Trowa, and I'd rather you not know their identities, their roles, or their purposes."

Operatives?

"To reveal them would be to derail the entire plan."

Trowa's narrowed eyes critically analyzed the boy before him.

So sweet and innocent looking…

So deceiving…

"It's your turn."

Trowa reached for his knight.

05:15 Hours --

"I'm out!" Trowa shouted to his companion as they raced down the hallway.

His quick reactions were all that saved him from being smacked in his forehead by the pistol that was tossed his way.

They'd been running for what seemed to be forever down twisting dark tunnels and through lab after lab of computer equipment.

Both boys were tired and worn.

Trowa focused his attention on Quatre as they kept their manic pace down the hall, watching as the blood-coated blond leapt almost casually over yet another body that had fallen to the dreaded blast of the gore-slicked Magnum in his right hand.

Dropping his empty 9mm, Trowa lifted his new gun - a Colt 45, by the feel of it - and fired as rapidly as he could, squeezing four shots into the guards who'd just stepped into the hallway before them.

Racing right past those bodies as well, they ran full-tilt around a corner.

Trowa nearly bowled over the smaller pilot as he came upon his still form.

Quatre neatly lifted his gun, aimed, and fired.

Two men fell as one, both with wretched cries, both in incredible sprays of red liquid.

Running once more, they came into a garage.

'Garage?'

'Of course!'

Trowa resisted the urge to smack himself upon his forehead. Glancing about, he quickly selected a vehicle, noticing that the keys were still hanging in the ignition, visible through the clear window.

"Over here, Quatre!" he shouted.

Nodding, Quatre quickly tossed Trowa another pistol, a 10mm acquired during their panicked flight through the base's labyrinthine corridors, then ran over and jumped into the driver seat of the vehicle Trowa had pointed out. "Watch the door while I get the code for the bay entry!" he shouted as he started the jeep.

Trowa took position.

Body after body fell as he defended Quatre, waiting as patiently as possible for the boy's rapidly dancing fingers to hit the right combination on the keypad within to open the garage's huge bay door.

Finally, the rumble of success filled the dark garage. Turning, Trowa nearly ripped the flimsy Jeep door off its hinges and leapt in. Without taking the time to buckle in, Trowa turned in his seat and resumed firing even as Quatre took them out of the garage as quickly as the vehicle could take them.

08:12 Hours --

Trowa watched as Quatre calmly castled his king and his rook.

Trowa responded by bringing his bishop forward into play. Glancing at the boy's face, he fought the urge to frown.

Quatre's smiling face led to absolutely no hints about his moves.

Still, it was a fairly even game.

"You've played chess often?" Trowa ventured.

"Hai, very often. I love this game."

"It's a little too foreign for me. I can't relate with it," Trowa muttered, moving another pawn.

Quatre nearly jumped on his own pawn, making Trowa immediately regret his move. "It's easy to relate to."

"How so?"

"I don't know. I just relate to it easily. Chess is… it's like life. It helps me think, helps me strategize. It's like I can take all the plans in my head that relate to life and test them on the board to see if they work."

"You strategize using a Chess board?"

"Hai. And it usually works very well. Chess… it's very insightful. It replicates real life so very well… all the unpredictable pitfalls… all the plotting that's required to reach your goal…"

Trowa let the slightest hint of a smile reach his eyes.

06:02 Hours --

Their pursuers had yet to relinquish them to the forest road they were attempting to escape down.

Trowa growled as he fired the last shot he that had available from his .32 shotgun at one of the approaching vehicles. His shot was right on topic - the man's face exploded in a violent, greasy array of red blood and flesh tinged with white bone. The Toyota swerved violently and took its passengers into a nearby tree, then promptly exploded into a gigantic ball of orange flame.

The following vehicles swung around the decimated SUV, keeping on the little camouflaged Jeep.

"Dammit!" Trowa heard Quatre growl.

"What?" he questioned, turning slightly, ducking as instinct directed him to.

"Almost out of gas."

'Damn,' Trowa's mind screamed, even as he looked to the windshield and noted the bullet-hole that'd appeared right where his head was but a moment ago.

"Hold on. We're gonna do something a little drastic. Better get your last shots in now, if you're going to use them."

For some reason, Trowa really did not like the sound of that.

Turning in his seat, he grabbed his last remaining gun, another 10mm, and fired at the tires of the vehicles chasing them.

One careened off the road, bursting into flames as its predecessor the Toyota had as it rammed into yet another aged tree.

Suddenly, the pursuing vehicles were stopping.

Trowa stared in confusion.

Suddenly, his stomach was meeting his throat, his brain was reaching for the sky, and his eyes were filled with realization as he watched the road vanish and be replaced by a hillside. Looking up, he stared as the trees that had loomed so closely before were reaching for the sky, primly propped upon the cliff they had just flown right off of.

His next sensation was a bone-jarring wrench as his head slammed down to meet the vehicle's rear passenger compartment and his intestines were squished onto the headrest of the seat he'd been leaning over.

Finally, the ground was rushing towards him, its lush green grass looking inviting and cool as it screamed towards his face in an absurdly slow-motion rush.

Everything went black.

08:15 Hours --

Trowa frowned at the move Quatre had just made.

It didn't compute in his mind. All he was doing was moving his pieces into the path of danger.

Looking over the board, Trowa nodded and swung his knight over, capturing the piece.

Quatre's hand immediately swept his rook halfway across the board.

"Checkmate in 7 moves."

Trowa stared at the board, then at the boy who was still smiling pleasantly at him.

He didn't see anything pleasant in that smile any longer.

Especially not when it was being worn by a boy who'd just made as calculated and cruel of a move as he'd just made.

Trowa returned to the board, staring at his suddenly excessively dwindled options.

He was aware that Quatre was a vicious strategist, but he'd never expected him to use the maneuvers he'd just used.

If Quatre plotted his maneuvers in life as he did on the chessboard as he'd stated but a few moments ago, Trowa had every reason to not trust the boy.

Especially one who smiles at a play such as the one just completed.

Trowa frowned. He didn't like play that was this dirty.

He didn't like pawn sacrifice.

_tbc..._


	5. Chapter V

Ah, time to reply to reviews:

Wolfkun: (helpless laugh) Couldn't help but to take a couple of stabs at Trowa. He's so much fun to putter with, considering how stupendous and infallible they so nearly made him in the anime. Making him commit human errors then ridiculing him for it is half the fun of fanfics. :)

GundamPilot03: Thanks much for the praise! This was one of my hardest works to produce, thanks to the plot (STILL hunting that thing, and it's running like mad) and lack of motivation to produce it at times. But I digress - here's more story! (presents with flourish of her hand and cheesy trumpeting erupting from the background, a la Imperial butter commercials)

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

08:13 Hours --

"I don't know. I just relate to it easily. Chess is… it's like life. It helps me think, helps me strategize. It's like I can take all the plans in my head that relate to life and test them on the board to see if they work."

"You strategize using a Chess board?"

"Hai. And it usually works very well. Chess… it's very insightful. It replicates real life so very well… all the unpredictable pitfalls… all the plotting that's required to reach your goal…"

22:04 Hours --

Trowa shifted in the overstuffed chair, glancing off to his side as the young woman slowly bowed, her veil sweeping past bronzed skin as she gracefully backed out of the room.

He'd never expected to see this manor again.

And he'd never expected that on his last visit he'd not seen it all.

Trowa had never seen what he could now call Quatre's War-Room.

This room was very new to him. He'd never seen that particular black and white Persian rug with the golden Celtic knots running along its borders and dominating its center. He'd never seen the four tables at its corners, each holding a chessboard in a different stage of some ongoing game. He'd never seen the tall, sweeping, arching, graceful golden lamps that sprang from the corners of the room towards the center, accentuating the pyramidal shape of the chandelier that hung there. He'd never seen the huge open windows framed in perfect symmetry by their white gauzy drapes.

Leaning against the high-swept backrest of the rouge throne-like chair he was seated in, he returned his gaze to the glass table before him.

The table, set in the very center of the room so its base rested on the giant detailed knot in the center of the plush rug, was thick and heavy, supported by a rectangular and thin aquarium. Trowa stared, bemused, at the yellow tang, two percula clowns, pigmy flame-angel and small shoal of firefish as they raced eternally around a tall, flourishing stalk of open-brain, bubble and polyp corals. Trowa supposed the filtration unit was located in the floor below, with the lack of visible hoses, tubes, or electrical wires in the area.

The table's top itself was thick and beveled along the edges, its top etched into squares of clear and translucent white. Sixty-four squares, in all.

Trowa's fingers lightly caressed his golden knight, his callused pads feeling the fine detail put into the exquisitely carved armored man upon his mighty, rearing steed.

He was still marveling at the quality of the pieces he was expected to play with. Both players' pieces were identical to the smallest curve. Pawn foot soldiers knelt behind their shields, spears in hand and helmets resting upon curly-haired heads. Bishops stood tall in their priestly robes, bibles in hand, hats rising from their heads with their cross emblazoned upon them. Queens sat in regal thrones aside their bearded kings, both bedecked with gems and jewelry. Rooks, or rather castles, were towering spires surrounded and topped with spiraling, fierce dragons with gleaming ruby eyes and sharp claws.

"It's your turn, Trowa," Quatre said, his smile in place as he leaned back in his matching chair, looking almost lost amongst the giant cushions.

"Aa."

The golden figure was swept from square G-8 and deposited on F-6.

Quatre's smiled remained unchanged as he reached for his platinum pawn.

10:00 Hours --

Trowa stared out of the murky motel window.

He'd already ventured out of the complex, having searched for clues to their whereabouts after Quatre had taken the Jeep to retrieve some necessary previsions.

Disappointingly, Trowa had found no hints to his location outside.

They were in the middle of a huge grassy expanse surrounded by mountains, hills and cliffs which were topped by forests that spanned farther than his eye could follow. Those forests he knew. They were the same clumps of trees that surrounded the OZ base he and Quatre had just escaped from.

Other than that, no single sign of civilization could be seen except the road and the remaining foundations of what must have been the other buildings of the way-station he seemed to be trapped in.

The only building remaining was the crumbling motel he was temporarily calling home.

And how it was that this decimated building had electricity running to it was beyond him.

Sighing as he stared at the sky outside, Trowa leaned back on the rickety chair. 'Of course, Quatre had this planned. He probably arranged for it before hand.'

'He had this planned since the start.'

'Did he plan on me being there as well?'

Trowa frowned as he turned his stare from the sky outside to the cracked ceiling within the dank room.

22:10 Hours --

Trowa frowned.

Quatre's fifth move had been to castle. Rook to F1, King to G1.

He had his knights out in force, along with a trio of golden pawns.

Quatre had already moved a pawn, a both of his bishops, and a knight.

The castling was the only move that reminded him of the last game they'd played. It was a safety maneuver, sweeping the king out of the way of oncoming attack.

Trowa glanced at his own pieces, pondering his next move.

"Take your time, Trowa. We've got plenty of it right now," Quatre piped in happily.

"Aa."

"I wouldn't do that."

Trowa looked at his hand as he rested his fingertips upon his bishop. 'Now, is Quatre telling me this because he doesn't want me to move this for it'll make his chances of success more remote? Or does he mean to actually help me?'

'No telling with him. Better not to trust.'

Trowa moved his bishop as he planned.

Listening to Quatre hiss, he glanced up. "By the way."

"Nani?" Quatre asked, even as he reached for yet another pawn.

"I've been meaning to ask you a few questions."

"At another time."

"Really."

Quatre sighed and looked up. " I'd happily tell you everything you want to know. I know you have a lot of questions regarding my… behavior. Especially as of late, neh? And I know you have questions about that base, and the mission. But I can't tell you."

He slowly moved the piece. Pawn from F2 to F3.

"Not yet, anyway. Maybe later."

"How much later?" Trowa asked, his eyes narrowed as he moved his bishop from G4 to F5.

"Later. Once we're out of this area."

Trowa simply sighed as Quatre moved another pawn from B2 to B3. He knew that he wasn't going to get any answers today.

10:30 Hours --

Trowa's eyes opened once more as he heard the Jeep rumble up to the house. Apparently, there was civilization somewhere nearby. Quatre had been gone for less than forty-five minutes.

"I'm home!" Quatre called as he stepped up to the door, his arms burdened with a pair of grocery sacks.

Trowa stumbled towards the door, his joints stiff from being banged around in the OZ cell and the Jeep, and wrenched it open.

"Thought you might be hungry, so I did some shopping. And I got you a new batch of bandages, some more Ben Gay, some Neosporin and some more Asprin, and…"

"Aa. Thank you."

Glancing over, having been thoroughly interrupted, Quatre simply smiled and handed one of the sacks over. "Enjoy."

"Hai."

Trowa glanced inside.

Mmmmm… cereal, milk, plastic spoons and a pair of bowls.

'Yum.'

22:25 Hours --

Trowa allowed a small smile to play along his lips as Quatre's smile faltered slightly, his eyes acquiring the slightest shimmer to them.

"Aaa ah! You're forcing me to surrender my pawn. Clever, Trowa. Very clever."

Quatre made his twelfth move, sweeping his pawn from C4 to B5, ready for taking.

Trowa responded silently, taking it with moving his own golden pawn from A6 to B5.

Quatre shrugged, gripping the platinum bishop and moving him from A4 to B5, capturing Trowa's foot soldier.

Trowa's hand readily captured his knight, preparing to sweep him over to capture the other errant bishop and remove him from the line of danger of being captured.

"Uh uh, Trowa-kun," he heard Quatre's voice laugh softly. "Move that knight, and you're in check."

'Damn,' Trowa's mind scowled. 'Didn't even see that one. How did that occur so quickly? Hmmmm….'

He decided on his bishop instead. B5 to C6.

10:50 Hours --

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going back, Trowa."

Trowa arched an eyebrow. 'He's going back? Right when the search for us will be at its hottest?'

Quatre smiled as he rummaged around under the bed.

'What kind of fool are you, Quatre?'

Straightening his stance, Quatre smiled at Trowa, laying a hand upon his forehead. "Lay down. Behave. I'll make certain you're picked up shortly." Pushing back with his hand, he easily caught the taller boy off-balance and sent him to his seat upon the bed.

Frowning, Trowa laid back as ordered.

Quatre resumed rummaging.

22:40 Hours --

Trowa watched in horror as Quatre's 14th move claimed his rook.

Glancing over the board, the emerald-eyed boy mentally kicked himself. He'd let Quatre maneuver him into a position where the only piece he could move without sacrificing anything to the blond boy was his queen.

Out of options, Trowa laid his finger atop the jewel-bearing piece and swept her from D8 to A8.

Quatre readily replied, taking his knight from A3 to C4.

Scratching his chin, Trowa stared at the board, attempting to figure out just what the boy was thinking, casting his pieces into such a chaotic array.

They'd spent the last batch of minutes eagerly capturing pieces, Trowa staring as every move he'd cast only succeeded in allowing Quatre in capturing yet another one of his precious pieces.

On Trowa's side of the board rested a pawn and both of the platinum bishops.

'Both bishops, which had been relinquished with no worry in his eyes. He was more panicked over that pawn than he was over the bishops…' his mind reflected.

Quatre had claimed two pawns and a knight.

And now he'd added the golden rook to his collection.

Trowa's pawn leapt from H7 to H6.

Quatre's knight responded not even seconds later, heading from F6 to G8.

Trowa's brow furrowed. 'Quatre's going after my knight, eh? Well, if he thinks he's going to get another one of my pieces, he's sorely mistaken.' He hurriedly moved his endangered hero from F6 to G8.

Quatre smirked.

'What? But my knight is out…'

And, with a leap of a platinum knight from D5 to C7, Quatre lifted a golden pawn.

'He wanted… oh shit.'

"Check."

10:55 Hours --

Trowa cracked open one eye and stared at the platinum-haired youth.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

Click went the gun as its safety was flicked off.

"Hai. Stay put. I don't want you getting hurt."

Trowa arched a brow. "Injuries are to be expected, Quatre. I'm already injured, as you well know."

"Well, then, I don't want you getting hurt further. At least, not this early in the game."

'The game…?'

Quatre smiled, noting Trowa's arched brow. "Kidding, kidding! I don't want you hurt at all, 'kay?"

"…. Right."

Nodding, the slim, fragile-looking boy lifted the AK 47 and slammed the pump back along its barrel. With a heavy click emanating from it, Quatre shoved the pump back into place, assuring that the massive weapon was properly loaded. Grinning, he nodded.

Beretta AR 70/90 strapped to his back, AK 47 in hands, .357 Magnum in holster at hip and as Trowa had noted when he'd watched the Jeep pull up from Quatre's afternoon sojourn, a Ground-to-Air Missile Launcher.

Resisting the urge to chuckle, Trowa's mind noted the fact that Quatre looked like a very twiggy remake of the ancient hero Rambo, ready to bring the fires of Hell to the OZ base in the mountains beyond.

Smirking at Trowa, Quatre snickered quietly. "Don't worry. Everything'll be fine." Tossing a service-revolver to Trowa, he nodded. "In case you need to defend yourself.

And with that, the weapon-decked boy marched out of the room.

22:42 Hours --

Trowa was still staring at the board.

He'd yet to move his pieces after Quatre had called Check.

Considering his options, Trowa mentally scowled. They were surprisingly low.

The only piece he could move to stop the check was his king, which meant he couldn't move his powerhouse piece out of danger.

His queen was inevitably going to be captured.

Sighing, he took his king from E8 and deposited it back on the board at D8.

Sure enough, his queen fell victim to Quatre's platinum knight.

'Oh yeah?' Trowa thought vindictively as he took his bishop from C6 and plopped it on A8, stealing away Quatre's offending knight.

Quatre smiled. "Yeah," he whispered, as he took his other knight to D6 and stole away a golden pawn.

"Hmph," Trowa uttered, his lips curved in a smile as his bishop traveled from F8 to D6 and reigned holy justice upon Quatre's remaining knight.

Quatre swung his pawn down from D2 to D4, still smiling happily.

Trowa folded his hands, staring at the pieces. Then, with slow determination, he moved his pawn from E5 to D4 to capture it.

Quatre's hand arched gracefully over the board, taking his platinum queen from her starting place of D1 and dropping it at D4, capturing Trowa's previously triumphant pawn.

"Checkmate in six moves."

Trowa's mind envisioned himself scowling.

19:58 Hours --

Trowa stared as the summer sky slowly faded with the onset of night.

He could see the explosions from where he was laying.

Graceful fireballs arched towards the heavens, long tendrils of flame like fingers as they sought to grasp the sky above.

A knocking at the door startled him.

His hand was immediately before him and gripping the gun that Quatre had left as he found himself already on his feet and hiding behind the door. He waited patiently.

The knocking sounded again. "Message for Trowa," a voice softly said, its tone distant and inattentive.

Ripping the door open, Trowa blindly reached out with his free hand and gripped. Coming in contact with fabric, he dragged the body of whoever was clothed in said fabric into the room and slammed the door shut again. His gun instantly at the person's forehead, his eyes narrowed, the boy snorted.

OZ soldier.

Browens.

He recognized his face from the interrogation cell.

"Message for Trowa," he repeated, his voice still distant and faint.

"Speak," Trowa demanded.

The man slowly blinked, then extended his hand, offering Trowa a sheet of paper that was tinged with soot and blood.

'Huh?' Trowa's free hand claimed the sheet immediately.

The soldier seemed to start at this, and rubbed his head, closing his eyes, his voice stronger and more clearly identifiable as that of the soldier called 'Browens' as he said, "What the hell… where am I?"

Trowa stared at the first few letters on the page. Lifting his gun, he fired one single bullet between the man's eyes, then continued reading.

'Shoot the messenger. Proceed south on the road. Await pickup. You'll know him when you see him. Quatre.' Trowa shook his head as he shoved the paper into the back pocket of his jeans. 'What kind of message is that?'

Shrugging, Trowa opened the door. Best to do what the letter said. Quatre, obviously, had this planned from the start. Or had altered his plan to include him.

Whatever the case, there was an organized escape.

That was fine with Trowa.

He'd rather be walking than in that musty room any longer, anyway.

22:45 Hours --

Trowa frowned as he moved his knight from G8 to F6. 'If nothing else, when Quatre takes my bishop, I can swing my knight down to defend my king. Then, he can't take my knight without sacrificing his queen to my king….'

Quatre's hand moved his rook.

'Rook from A1 to C1?'

'Crap. He's going to swing them down and checkmate me.'

Trowa tried to move his knight from F6 to D7, leaving it in position to defend his king, not seeing many other options at that moment.

Quatre's queen swept from D4 to H8.

'What? He went after…'

'He's got my other rook.'

"Check!" the angelic voice piped happily.

Frowning, Trowa sighed and swung his knight from D7 to F8, blocking the Queen.

'Well, if he attempts to take my knight, my bishop takes his queen. But that doesn't solve the problem of his damned rooks. So come on, Quatre. Move your queen. That's what you're going to do, right?'

Wrong.

Quatre swung his other rook out of hiding, taking it from F1 to D1.

'Huh? Woah! He's going to pin me with his rook. He's going to sweep one rook down to get my bishop, then have his queen take my knight… how to block, how to block the pin…'

'Move my other bishop!'

The golden holy-man moved from A8 to C6.

That golden piece was swiftly claimed by a platinum dragon-bearing castle that moved from C1 to C6.

Trowa nodded. Checkmate was unavoidable. Out of moves, he simply stepped one of his few remaining pawns from F7 to F5.

20:26 Hours --

Trowa staggered as he walked down the road.

The cool night air did help to refresh him, but his injuries were certainly catching up with him.

It didn't matter.

Trowa's gaze turned heavenward as he heard the rushing approach of engines.

His stare remained unimpressed and unconcerned as the huge black mobile suit dropped onto the road in front of him, large thermal scythe held to its right, its left hand extended.

'That guy from New Edwards that Heero keeps talking about. Duo.'

"A're? You? The bastard that pelted me with missiles!"

Trowa simply nodded as he climbed aboard the machine's hand.

"Fuck! Of all the people Quatre asks me to rescue, it has to be you… well, at least this way I can properly chew you out for denting my damned Gundam, eh?"

Sitting without comment, Trowa simply hung on as the reckless pilot blasted off again, taking him in some unknown direction towards what he assumed must be safety.

22:51 Hours --

"Checkmate."

Trowa nodded as Quatre's hands left the platinum queen at square F8, neatly pinning his king between queen and rooks. "Good game," he said, his eyes genuinely soft as he extended his hand for the customary after-game shake.

Grinning, Quatre took his hand and gave it a firm jostle. "Thank you for the challenge!"

The large oak door of the room swung open. "Oi, Quatre-kun, Johnson's here to talk to you."

'Johnson…?'

"Said it's about Waverly. Some new info he got from Lesley, or something… I don't ask."

"Ah! Good. Thank you, Duo-kun!"

Trowa stared as Quatre left.

'Waverly… Lesley… Johnson…' he thought, seeking the connection in his memories that conveyed familiarity.

22:20 Hours, Yesterday --

"Johnson, Browens, stay to control the prisoners. The rest of you are dismissed."

00:05 Hours --

"Hello, Johnson. Lesley. Is this one behaving?"

"Hasn't moved an inch, sir."

"Good," the captain's voice continued.

"The other one cooperating yet?"

"Not at all," he muttered. "He eludes to one thing, then completely abolishes any suggestions he gives with his next statements."

"Sounds like he's going to need some persuasion to tell the truth, neh, Cap?"

"Yes, he will."

"Get Sargent Waverly. He should be able to offer some interesting insight on what is to be done with this irritating little captive of ours."

19:58 Hours --

OZ soldier.

Browens.

He recognized his face from the interrogation cell.

"Message for Trowa," he repeated, his voice still distant and faint.

22:52 Hours --

Trowa's eyebrows arched over flat emerald eyes as he watched the platinum haired youth leave with his braided friend, leaving him alone in the huge chess room.

If questions had been bubbling in Trowa's skull before, they were boiling over the brim now.


	6. Chapter VI

Review response time:

Wolfkun: Yeah, I'm aware that Tro's not the cleanest player on the field, but he's not one to toss his fellow compatriots into the fray as strategic pieces... And I was focusing more on a blend of the Episode Zero Quatre and early episode Quatre (he who offers mercy right before slicing people in half. Gotta love it.) rather than "Zero System", if that's what you were referring to, as this story happens long before Zero was completed by Quatre. :)

GundamPilot03: Posting as quickly as possible! Some delays from duty days (can't do much when trapped onboard my ship (may she sink)), some from pure laziness, but there shouldn't be any significant delays until MUCH latter. And THAT'S only if I don't manage to get rid of the boulder-sized writer's block that landed on my head nearly a year ago by the time I have to start writing fresh material to continue updating. :P

YiyangYoung: Ah, glad you're finding this story enjoyable. I strive to be as accurate so far as my utilization of grammar is concerned; used to have the Grammar Queen back in college, so the rules have been so pounded into my skull that I can't begin to dream of escaping them. (laugh) And thank you so much for your confidence in my characterizations! That's my biggest vice with fanfiction, and I'm glad that others think I'm doing a good job. :)

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

02:05 Hours --

Trowa's eyes remained hooded, his gaze completely casual as he sipped from his glass. Letting the pungent taste of the screwdriver's overly strong vodka rest upon the top of his tongue for a few moments, the HeavyArms pilot closed his eyes then swallowed.

Cracking open the one eye that was obscured by his heavy bangs, he stared through the thick veil of brown at the gathering of people just a few tables before his own, closer to the stage than he was.

Resting his chin in the palm of his hand, Trowa slowly snaked a finger through his hair to his ear and gently pressed upon the small receiver that he was wearing, attempting to up the volume of the conversation he was eavesdropping on.

"But still, I feel rotten about it…"

"He would have betrayed us anyway. You know that."

"Yeah. Stop being so hard on yourself. He was getting himself slaughtered on his lonesome."

"… Hai."

"You can't be letting a small setback like this upset you so much, man. So some news leaked to Bradshaw, and Browens had to be sacrificed. Hell, you gave him a better end than he could ever have hoped to meet…"

"Enough! I've heard enough…."

Trowa simply frowned, his finger remaining firmly upon the receiver pressed into his ear canal.

22:53 Hours --

Trowa still stared at the door.

Thoughts raging in his mind, he narrowed his eyes, attempting to analyze everything his brain was feeding him.

'Lesley, Johnson, Waverly and Browens. All are officers of OZ. All were located at that base. Browens is dead. The other three are apparently alive.'

'Quatre is connected to these people.'

'How?'

Shaking his head, the acrobat made his way back over to the chessboard to stare at the intricately carved pieces, studying the final moves that had secured the blond boy victory.

'I lost because I moved my queen.'

'It was almost as if he could read my mind and react to what was happening.'

Shaking his head, Trowa wandered to one of the other boards and looked down upon the pieces.

He found his jaw unhinging from the rest of his face, dragging his eyes wide open as it did so.

Rather than the typical set of pieces found upon a typical chessboard, this one sported an entirely different figurine collection, each piece's true identity recognized only by the letters emblazoned upon the bottom of it as Trowa discovered in his critiques of the craftsmanship of the statuettes.

OZ soldiers - pawns.

OZ mobile suits - knights, rooks, bishops.

OZ communication tower and supporting troops - queen.

OZ commanding base - king.

Rubbing his eyes, he stared once again, allowing his senses to tell him that his mind was indeed not playing tricks with him.

The pawns were carved as little gatherings of multitudes of soldiers.

The mobile suits were gatherings of ten.

The communication tower was tall and straight, an exact replica of what sprang from the forests Trowa'd last seen before awakening in the Winner manor, and surrounded with uncounted mobile suits and soldiers.

The squat building he'd infiltrated was correct to the smallest possible detail.

And the opposing pieces:

Sandrock the rook.

Deathscythe the rook.

Quatre the queen.

Trowa the…

Trowa, the newest addition.

The pawn.

Trowa swallowed the lump that had risen to block his airway.

02:08 Hours --

Trowa sipped from his drink again, his bangs still casting a thick brown haze upon the world as he carefully watched his quarry.

'Come on, Quatre. Say something of importance. Start that conversation you dropped again.'

And, almost as if by request, the boy and his party revived their conversation.

"So, what do you think Waverly wants?"

"Besides you?" one of the two men with Quatre chuckled.

Trowa arched a brow as he listened, staring as Quatre seemed to shrink into his chair.

"Ah, stop picking on the kid, Lesley," the other man said with a laugh.

'Lesley. That's the guy who was outside of my cell, standing as guard,' Trowa's brain recalled.

"Hm. Ah, who the hell knows with someone as odd as Waverly," the first voice continued.

"Is he even on our side? I doubt that at times. I mean, what he did to you…" Lesley cut in.

"Is acceptable."

"Eh?" both men questioned at once in reply to Quatre's stark answer.

"It was an acceptable gamble to take, considering the stakes. It was an acceptable road to travel. He did it to keep from blowing our cover, gentlemen. You should be grateful."

The unidentified man's voice growled his disapproval. "Whatever you say, man."

"Anyway," Quatre's voice began again, "We can be certain of his loyalty. I know this…."

"It's telling you that?" Lesley asked.

"… Aa."

22:56 Hours --

Trowa had seen enough in the chess room.

Having slammed the door on his way out, he marched down the ancient hallway, his boots clicking loudly on the marble floor below his feet. Rounding the corner that came before him, he barely kept from crashing into Duo, who seemed to be on his way in the direction Trowa'd just left from.

"Yo, buddy. Sorry 'bout that… let me just get out of your way."

"Where is he?"

Duo's large violet eyes blinked owlishly at Trowa. "Eh? Mind clarifying that?"

"Where is Quatre?"

"Garage. Why're you so curious? And why the hell're you so rude? God, remind me of Heer…"

"Where's the garage?"

"If you don't interrupt me anymore, I'll show you."

"Lead the way."

"Do you have a three word cap on your sentences, or something?"

"…."

02:15 Hours --

Trowa frowned as the three fell silent once more, then noted that their attention had turned towards the door. Opening his other eye, Trowa afforded himself a sidelong glance.

A well-built man of modest height, sporting dark hazel eyes and long brown hair that was tied back into a relatively unkempt pony-tail had just walked in through the club's curtain doors. Dressed in loose-fitting jeans and a tight tee shirt that displayed his excellent physique, he looked calm and comfortable in the loud techno-filled environment. Sauntering towards Quatre's table, his gait swaggering haughtily, he grabbed a drink from a nearby waitress and slurped most of it back in his first draw.

Upon reaching the edge of the platinum-haired youth's table, he slammed his heavy hand solidly onto the desktop and leaned over, whispering into Quatre's ear.

"It's arranged."

"Thank you, Waverly," Quatre softly replied, lifting his carbonated drink to mask his words.

The man called 'Waverly' continued his arrogant strut towards the back of the club and the shadow enshrouded tables that were encased therein.

Trowa's ice cold glare followed him.

23:15 Hours --

The wind whistled through Trowa's hair, blowing his bangs free of his stern face as he tore down the road upon the back of the Yamaha bike.

His narrowed eyes made certain to keep the taxi he'd finally tracked down in his line of site.

Nothing was coming through his receiver at that moment. Of course, why would Quatre carry on a conversation with a taxi driver?

Soon enough, they came into town and stopped in front of a fairly rough and sleazy nightclub known as "Cop-U-L8."

Trowa grimaced at the site of the establishment. Something just didn't sit right with him.

Keeping his bike behind the cars awaiting unloading to be parked by the club's valets, the young pilot watched as Quatre emerged from the taxi, clad not in khakis but in tight black jeans, and having abandoned his vest, leaving only his light rose dress shirt, which along the course of the journey had managed to become partially unbuttoned.

Simply staring, Trowa barely managed to get off his bike and follow the boy when asked to do so by the valet.

Making certain that Quatre failed to see him, Trowa slid into a seat a few tables away from him, keeping to the blond boy's back. Soon enough, a pair of taller, older gentlemen, one whom he could swear he'd recognized from the OZ base they'd been captured on recently, walked over to join the Arab with smiles and clasping hugs of comradery.

Trowa made certain to thank whatever God would listen to him that Quatre had yet to discover the bug he'd planted upon his cuff when they'd shaken hands after their chess game.

02:35 Hours --

Quatre had separated from the group of soldiers and walked over towards the bar that occupied the west wall.

The pair of men that Quatre had been speaking too had already left.

Trowa didn't care. His eyes remained upon his quarry.

He watched as Quatre sat upon the barstool, sipping a margarita.

'Margarita?' Trowa's brain mused. 'I thought he was Muslim….'

'And he's definitely under-aged.'

Smirking, he looked down at his own drink, this time a MGD.

'Not that THAT ever stopped anyone.'

Taking a sip, he watched as Quatre's eyes drifted slowly closed.

The music in the club changed.

'Come Together? My god, how old is this… Beetles, something or other…'

He watched, utterly enraptured, as Quatre rose from his stool.

He was walking his way, his eyes half-shut, his step perfectly in time with the heavy, hearty base-beat.

Trowa silently wondered if Quatre knew exactly how sexy he looked.

Apparently, he did, as anyone could judge by the smirk that spread across his lips.

Gulping as the blond boy approached, the green-eyed pilot attempted to still his nerves. 'He saw you. He knows you followed him. And he's…'

'He's…'

'He's really fucking hot….'

And he watched as Quatre walked right past him and leaned over the table right behind him.

In Trowa's microphone, he heard Quatre's voice, thick with lusty intent, whisper seductively, "I don't believe I've seen you around here before… new in the area?"

"Yes," he heard the man behind him say. Trowa gritted his teeth, attempting to keep his hands from balling into fists at the suggestive tones that flowed in that suddenly very sleazy sounding voice. "I'm looking for someone, actually," the voice continued, "named Winner. I was told I could meet him here for… a bit of fun and a tour 'round the town. You know him?"

"Aa," the blond boy answered.

Trowa watched the events behind him in the reflection of his beer bottle.

He stared as Quatre leaned over the table, every movement still in time to the erotic thumping of the music, taking the unidentified, distortedly-reflected man's apparent tie into his hand.

"He's me. Nice to meet you."

Trowa's eyes narrowed as he watched the blond kneel on the table with his left knee, bending over, his tight jeans doing nearly nothing to preserve his questionable dignity.

Trowa's hand formed that deadly fist it desired to make on the MGD's neck as the man pressed his lips to those of the blond boy offering himself upon the table to him.

The beer bottle creaked.

_tbc..._


	7. Chapter VII

Ah, my favorite part; responding to reviews! Makes my day. :)

YiyangYoung: Yep, you made sense. No worries. And as for the beer bottle creaking, just… well, if you've ever had glass near it's breaking point and slowly apply continued stress, it does make sound. Heh heh. Trowa was about to shatter it in his hand. I just thought it was a nice bit of imagery.

GundamPilot03: Heh. I'd be pissed if I was Tro, too. Next chapter delivered! (rings bell to announce arrival)

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

19:15 Hours --

Trowa scowled viciously as he glowered with unmitigated rage at the door that had not moved a single inch in the last fourteen hours. Smoke veritably roiled from the seething green-eyed boy as he ground his teeth together, his fists clenched to the point of risking slicing his own palms open with his fingernails.

Next, Trowa was pacing back and forth, wringing his hands behind his back, his face screaming of worry and panic as he muttered 'where is he?' over and over.

Finally, Trowa was jumping up and down with his fists flailing above his head, all worry forgotten and rage returning in full. Fangs sprouted out of his mouth and fire burned in his eyes, accompanying the steam rising out of his ears and the vicious slashed background that appeared over the living room of the Winner manor. His far-too-large head sported popped veins and pound-signs as it remained precariously balanced upon his tiny turtleneck and jeans clad, chubby body.

Trowa's brain was creating very, very intense and interesting imagery.

On the exterior, though, Trowa simply sat upon the couch, his flat and emotionless gaze remaining set firmly upon the door that had indeed not moved a single inch in the last fourteen hours.

Trowa resisted the urge to smirk as the image of a chibified him bounding around in anger popped into his skull again.

He'd been watching far too much anime lately.

Shaking his head slightly, he glanced over at the TV. Batman Beyond was over. Now Loony Tunes were on.

The braided pilot sat by his side, leaning casually on the couch, a bowl of trail mix cradled upon his lap. Reaching into the bowl without so much as casting a glance to it, Duo grabbed a handful of the snack and popped it into his mouth. Chewing noisily, his mouth slipping open from time to time, he stared at the TV as if completely enraptured with the antic of the cartoon bunny.

Trowa knew Duo was as worried as he was. It was easily seen by the fact that not once did the violet-eyed boy laugh.

It had been fourteen hours since Trowa had returned from that sleazy bar in the nearby town, having returned after losing track of Quatre.

Sandrock's pilot had yet to return home.

02:37 Hours --

Trowa faintly heard the creaking of the glass in his fist as he closed his eyes, struggling to keep his face in its neutral mask.

He'd never thought the sight of Quatre's lips being assaulted by another person would enrage him like this. Hell, he'd never thought that the site of Quatre kissing another person would move him, period.

Slowly putting the beer bottle back down on the table, Trowa willed his fingers to release the glass vessel before he unwittingly crushed it. His fingers slowly complied.

Trowa closed his eyes and rested his face upon his hand, casually slipping his index finger to his ear to press against the receiver in his ear.

"Mmmmm…. That was nice," Quatre said to the other man.

"So, you're the one James told me about…. Excellent," the unidentified person said, his voice lusty and breathless.

"Aa. James is such a dear friend of mine…"

"Really?"

"Aa. I'd do anything for him. Or for a friend of his."

"Anything?"

"Aa."

Trowa growled quietly, his eyes tightening their squint as he fought his body, attempting to keep it from inadvertently jumping out of its seat and throttling the man. Or throttling Quatre. Which it was screaming to strangle wasn't communicated to his brain at that time.

Trowa snorted as, ironically, the song changed and the band shifted tunes abruptly.

The piano's soft ring slowly eased through the room.

"When I find myself in times of trouble,

Mother Mary comes to me,

Speaking words of wisdom:

'Let it be.'

And in my hour of darkness

She is standing right in front of me

Speaking words of wisdom:

'Let it be.'"

'Oh, what incredibly sound advice… ha! Yeah, right. Let it be, my ass,' Trowa's mind growled viciously, sending daggers flying towards the band.

Trowa sat in his chair, silently seething, his hand still pressed to his head, his finger still resting on the receiver, his eyes perfectly flat, opaque mirrors of nothingness.

19:20 Hours --

Trowa sighed quietly.

Duo looked over, his face completely riddled with what could only be called stunned amazement. "My Lord in Hell, he makes a sound! You're actually alive over there?"

Trowa simply glanced over, his face entirely unreadable. "Of course."

"You're worried about him too, eh?"

"Aa."

"Oh cripes, now it goes from three words to one or two?"

"Hmph."

Duo sighed as he munched on more trail mix. Offering the bowl, he nodded. "Take some."

"No thank you."

"Well, at least you're polite at times," Duo muttered as he pulled the bowl away. "So, what's your name anyway? You haven't said a word since you've arrived at this place yesterday except for your little three word commands. Very rude, you know."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, really. So give your name already, neh?"

"Quatre hasn't told you?"

"WOW! That was four words!"

"…."

Duo arched a brow. "Kidding, kidding. Alright. No, he hasn't told me." Sighing, he glanced away. "We've… kinda been reluctant to talk about anything concerning recent events. Mostly been just talking about our mission orders, what life was like in our respective worlds, what an ass his father is, how much we both like "Slayers" and how the movie "Crouching Tiger - Hidden Dragon" was really good for being a subtitled, antique excuse for a flick with hokey flying ninjas. That kinda stuff. Getting to know one another."

Trowa could only stare. 'Does this guy ever breathe! He didn't pause once during that entire statement!'

"So yeah, he hasn't told me yet, meaning you've got to relinquish with the information, my friend. That is, unless you just want me to refer to you as 'Tall, Dark and Ugly' every time I see you."

"Trowa. Trowa Barton."

"Aaaaaah. Alrighty then." Duo laughed softly, before extending his crumb-covered hand. "Duo Maxwell."

Trowa stared at his hand.

Duo sighed quietly, his voice echoing with irritation. "Western custom. Take hand. Shake. Wee, we've met! Hiya! That's what it means. Yeesh, these people and their weird affront to shaking hands… what the hell's up with that anyway, huh? Could swear that Quatre's the only normal person in this entire damned alliance. At least he shakes hands."

Trowa continued to stare.

03:45 Hours --

Trowa was slowly beginning to develop one heck of an ache in his jaw from clenching it so hard for so very long.

Over an hour later, and Quatre was still seated at that mysterious man's table.

Trowa's brain calmly relayed the information he'd gathered from the bug he'd planted on Quatre's shirt across his mind's eye.

The man's name was Gregory. He was a friend of James Waverly. He was also affiliated with Douglas, whoever that was. He was working as a computer consultant and had been called in to check out some sort of security breech and a virus that couldn't be repaired. He was usually stationed out on the eastern seaboard of the continent of North America, but had been ordered to travel out here to assist in repairing and reestablishing the network that had apparently been broken into by Rebel forces.

'Scum,' Trowa's mind said. 'Complete scum. And Quatre's over there, practically in his lap, chewing on his chin. Why is this making me so incredibly nauseous? I'm gonna kill him.'

'Oh yes. I'm gonna kill him.'

'But which one goes first?'

Trowa blinked. Why was he considering killing Quatre?

'Because he's MINE.'

Blink went Trowa's eyes again.

'When did I ever come up with THAT assumption? He's my friend.'

'Friend.'

'And I'm his.'

'And, as his friend, it's my duty to protect him from scum like that, right?'

'Yep. That justifies my desire to kill that guy.'

Glancing back at his beer bottle, he stared, startled, at the reflection it showed him.

Quatre had grasped the man's hand, and was being led out of the door.

'Damn it!' Trowa's mind hissed even as he stood up rapidly, nearly upsetting his chair in the process. Grabbing his beer, he finished it in one quick chug before stalking off after the Arab and his companion.

He reflected as he caught sight of the bobbing blond head. 'He grasped his hand.'

'That touch, only meant for…'

'Maybe it's nothing. Maybe you're reading too much into it.'

'But the way he touched him… like a lover…'

'No no no, Trowa! He only met the guy recently! Quatre wouldn't….'

'Oh, he wouldn't? But do we really know him?'

'He's our friend. We know him….'

'How well, though?'

Trowa paused, and shook his head.

'Great. I'm going crazy… first, jealousy over Quatre's actions.'

'And now I'm holding arguments with myself?'

19:40 Hours --

Duo had long since given up attempting to shake Trowa's hand and had returned his attention to the cartoons on TV. Trowa had returned his gaze to the door.

The grandfather clock in the room ticked loudly, each tock echoing in both boys' ears, accentuating the fact that their blond friend was more than late.

03:53 Hours --

Trowa slipped through the crowd, keeping a careful eye on the blond and his companion while trying to not look overly conspicuous.

Quatre suddenly stopped and turned to his partner. "Hold on a moment, OK?"

"Alright," the other man replied, confusion in his voice as the Arab started plucking at his cuff.

'Oh no! He knows about the bug?' Trowa's mind breathed softly.

Sure enough, Quatre drew the bug out of his sleeve. Scowling at the little device, he dropped it on the ground, and sent his heel right onto it.

Trowa cringed, his hand flying to his ear as the squeal and crunch of the device screamed through his head like the roar of a lion stationed 3 inches from his head.

Quatre's eyes remained focused on him as he turned his gaze back towards the couple.

The dark blue eyes widened as Quatre caught sight of Trowa's face, then narrowed considerably before he turned sharply on his heel and marched off, Gregory in tow.

Trowa cursed, and attempted to follow them.

However, the couple soon vanished into the crowd. Softly snarling his hatred of his ill-fated luck, he shoved his hands in his pockets and returned to the bar to order a few more drinks before considering going back to Quatre's manor.

20:06 Hours --

Trowa was still calmly staring at the door.

Duo was beginning to fidget.

"So, maybe I could go look for him. Break ol' Deathscythe out of the hanger. She's refueled and ready to go, you know…."

"Iya. A Gundam searching a town?"

"True, true. A bit nerve wracking, neh? And would blow cover, too. Was actually thinking of taking her towards town and ditching her about a mile out, camouflaging her, and walking the rest of the way and seeing if I could find him on foot."

'He refers to his Gundam as 'her'…? Weird.' Clearing his throat, Trowa shook his head. "Best of luck. I lost him."

"Well, word on the street…"

"Will"

"Blow our cover. Right, right."

Trowa arched a brow as the braided boy squirmed in his seat, tucking his legs under him to sit cross-legged on the expensive couch one moment and kicking them out to flop back the next before turning on his side then sprawling on his belly.

"Do you always squirm like that?"

"Eh?" Glancing over, Duo grinned, and shrugged. "Sorry, man. I get antsy if I'm not doing anything… if things're outta my control. I just… I'm worried. Poor little guy… out there, all alone and everything."

"… Yeah."

"Heh… wish that bastard were still with us… HE'D be able to track him down… dammit."

Trowa turned away from the other pilot, not failing to notice the tears that hung upon the lashes of those large violet eyes despite the smile that graced the round face.

The door suddenly creaked.

Both pilots immediately sat at attention, though Duo had to fall face-first off the couch, stand, and plop back down onto the cushions to do so.

With a quiet sigh, Quatre slipped through the opened portal. Turning, he arched a brow at the two wired pilots, and smiled in a happy, innocent fashion before nodding firmly. "Konban wa!"

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? You had us worried sick!"

Trowa's narrowed eyes screamed the same words Duo's mouth had just released.

"Gomen, gomen! I should have called."

"Damned right, you should've!"

"Where HAVE you been, Quatre?" Trowa softly questioned.

Glancing over, his eyes hardening slightly, Quatre mouthed, "None of your business."

"DETAILS, man. Gimme details or I'm not going to stop hounding you all night. No letting you go to your chess room to do whatever it is you do."

"Alrighty! You see, I met this… person. We talked, we laughed, we had a wild time on the town, and I'll give you details AFTER I'm allowed to, ahem, 'do whatever it is I do' in my room."

"Fine, fine," Duo said, holding his hands up in defeat, grinning. "You'd better not forget your promise."

"I won't!" Quatre promised with a wink before waltzing out of the room, heading right for his chessboards.

Trowa followed, and poked his head in through the door. "Quatre?"

The blond boy didn't respond. Rather, he was staring the board sporting what Trowa assumed was their current situation.

08:13 Hours, Yesterday --

"You strategize using a Chess board?"

"Hai. And it usually works very well. Chess… it's very insightful. It replicates real life so very well… all the unpredictable pitfalls… all the plotting that's required to reach your goal…"

20:25 Hours --

Trowa stood by silently, waiting as the boy calmly put new pieces on the board, considered their locations, and moved the OZ pieces with a flurry of movement.

For another long span of minutes, he sat with his hands folded before his mouth, staring hard at the pieces.

Then he rearranged them, nodded, straightened his stance and left the room, brushing right by Trowa.

Stopping a foot away from the taller pilot's back, Quatre whispered, "Don't follow me again."

"I only followed because I was worried," Trowa responded.

"I know that. And I do appreciate it, Trowa. It's nice to know that you care…" Quatre began, his voice soft and sighing.

"But?" Trowa asked, still staring into the chess room.

"But you may have altered the game. Please don't do that again. My strategies are my business, not yours."

"If you'd share your plans, I'd be better informed as to when to avoid following you."

Quatre sighed, then chuckled quietly. "I can't tell you my plans. Sorry. But it may alter your personal objectives."

Trowa felt his eyes widen and his lips part as his lower jaw dropped.

22:55 Hours, Yesterday --

Rather than the typical set of pieces found upon a typical chess board, this one sported an entirely different figurine collection, each piece's true identity recognized only by the letter emblazoned upon the bottom of it as Trowa discovered in his critiques of the craftsmanship of the statuettes.

Trowa the…

Trowa, the newest addition.

The pawn.

08:16 Hours, Yesterday --

If Quatre plotted his maneuvers in life as he did on the chessboard as he'd stated but a few moments ago, Trowa had every reason to not trust the boy.

Especially one who smiles at a play such as the one just completed.

Trowa frowned. He didn't like play that was this dirty.

He didn't like pawn sacrifice.

22:30 Hours --

Trowa stared at the board.

'Pawn sacrifice.'

Trowa the pawn was in dire danger from the OZ Communication Tower.

'Pawn sacrifice.'

The mobile suit knights, bishops and rooks were focused on Deathscythe the rook.

'Pawn sacrifice.'

Sandrock the rook and Quatre the queen remained untouched in their positions, though a new pawn - this one a single, face-less man - had appeared by the queen, threatening as well as being threatened.

'Pawn sacrifice.'

'Alter my personal objectives? Or make me run for my life?'

Trowa's eyes hardened as he glowered at the board.

'I will not be sacrificed.'

'To coin your own phrase, Quatre….'

'Not this early in the game.'

_tbc..._


	8. Chapter VIII

Mmmm. Time to respond to reviews! (cheers):

Wolfkun: (snigger) Quatre's insanity is half the fun of psychoanalyzing the character. Thank you for the compliments on my character development and flashbacks! (humble bow) It takes a lot of hard work - I've got literally pages of notes on this thing - but knowing the effort's appreciated makes it worth it.

YiyangYoung: Awww, and why shouldn't you be reading this? (laughs) I'm glad that you're continuing! And GOOD LUCK on your test! (waves pom-poms)

Rute13: Mwahahahaha! (cough, gag, choke) Nngh. Need to work on that evil cackle. :) Answers come... later! Later! (refrains from cackling) Glad you like the story! (gush)

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

23:19 Hours --

The chilly night wind engulfed the thin boy as he roared down the dark, overgrown path.

Helmet upon his head, Trowa crouched low over the Kawasaki Ninja he'd located in the garage of the Winner manor to improve his aerodynamics. He didn't want any errant gust sending him wavering about the road. He also didn't want to be victimized by that cold wind any longer, and staying near the hot engine of the motorcycle helped keep him warm.

Flat emerald eyes kept their gaze firmly upon the road, watching carefully for rocks and other such obstructions in the short grass layer that coated what once was a dirt path. Those eyes squinted in concentration, using the faint light of the moon to pick out the details of what lay immediately before him.

He was screaming through the night without his headlights on to make tracking him more difficult. The overgrown state of the path also assured him some security from anyone who would dare attempt to track him.

Glancing up, Trowa caught site of the lights that announced the presence of the town he'd visited yesterday night. The bar in which Quatre had met that mysterious person had been located there.

Shaking his head, Trowa snorted. He had no intent of sticking around. He had no more interest in that man.

He was no longer going to be a pawn in Quatre's games.

Especially not when he'd seen what had happened to the last pawn he'd encountered.

19:58 Hours, Yesterday --

OZ soldier.

Browens.

He recognized his face from the interrogation cell.

"Message for Trowa," he repeated, his voice still distant and faint.

Trowa stared at the first few letters on the page. Lifting his gun, he fired one single bullet between the man's eyes, then continued reading.

'Shoot the messenger. Proceed south on the road. Await pickup. You'll know him when you see him. Quatre.'

23:20 Hours --

Trowa swerved the bike around a large rock.

He was not going to be a pawn.

He was not going to play Quatre's sick game any longer.

Besides, he had to check on Cathy and make certain Heero was still in satisfactory condition.

21:00 Hours --

Quatre sat, his fingertips lightly pressed together, his brow slightly furrowed. In his giant plush throne-backed chair before his glass chessboard, he glanced over and smiled kindly at Duo and Trowa who were standing side by side.

"So, what's the plan? You said we were going to retrieve that damned disk tonight, neh?" Duo began.

"Hai," Quatre answered, nodding slowly. "That's why I called you in here. I need to show you what you're going to be doing."

"Cool, cool," Duo said, nodding.

Trowa simply stared, his eyes emotionless and dull as they remained fixated on the boy in the giant chair. 'I already know what you're planning, Quatre. It's obvious on your board behind you to your left. You're planning to sacrifice us, then strike from afar with Sandrock. That's why that rook is so incredibly open, and lined up to hit the Communication Tower after it 'attacks' Deathscythe. And I'm to infiltrate and retrieve the disk, just in time to draw all the attention to myself so you can save your stronger pieces.'

'That's how you played before, Quatre. I recognize that move. You used it against me in our games.'

"Duo, I want you taking Deathscythe. The infiltration and footwork is going to be covered by Trowa," Quatre started, removing pieces from the glass table, leaving only one rook in place. "This rook represents you. And these other pieces represent one score of the enemy."

The violet eyes widened as both knights, both bishops and both rooks hit the table. "Holy shit," he whispered under his breath.

"Plus we've got the communication tower to worry about. They do have the ability to call in reinforcements from the Constantinople base and get them here in practically no time flat. They've got high-speed transports already stationed at both bases for just that purpose, as they know that the Rebel Alliances' most recent strikes have been in this area."

"Crap."

"But it shouldn't be that critical of a problem. Using Deathscythe, you should be able to reach here."

All watched as Quatre's hand slowly moved the rook into the center of the board.

"This should be the center of activities so far as the Mobile Suit Squadrons are concerned. Begin your attack only once you're surrounded."

"Sounds like fucking suicide…"

"No worse than New Edwards. In fact, the number of enemies you'll be facing should be considerably lower."

"Oh, gee, that's really instilling a lot of confidence in me."

Quatre smiled slightly. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. I have faith in your abilities."

Snorting, Duo grinned back. "Don't generals always say that to the soldiers they're slaughtering? Kinda like icing on the cake to get them to agree to throwing out their lives?"

"Not always!"

"Riiiiiight."

Shaking his head, Quatre focused his attention fully on Duo. "Will you do it?"

"Ah hell," Duo started, scratching the back of his head, "why the hell not? Sure. I'll do it. As long as you remember that if things get too hot, I'm running."

"Gotcha. Now, Trowa…"

Trowa stiffened.

"I want you to infiltrate the base while Duo keeps them busy on the outside."

"Aa."

"Do you want me to explain the particulars?"

"I don't need you to. I'll do things my own way."

Quatre, unexpectedly, smiled. "Good. That's what I'm counting on."

23:35 Hours --

'That's what he's counting on, eh? Hmph. I wonder if he was counting on this,' Trowa thought as he zoomed past the road that would have taken him to town, keeping his bike facing east-northeast.

'Duo hit it on the nose. Quatre's plan IS a suicide mission. Though why he would be getting rid of vital pieces 'this early in the game' is beyond me. Or maybe he doesn't view us as vital…'

Trowa scowled as he found himself glancing over his shoulder.

'Quatre… what are you doing? What are you planning?'

22:30 Hours --

Trowa stopped outside of the living room's door.

He'd heard Duo and Quatre's voices within.

Leaning casually against the corner of the entryway, he pressed his ear close to the wood and closed his eyes, listening to the conversation.

"So, what happened anyway, Quatre? You never did tell me what you were doing in town so long."

"Ah, it was really nothing much. I was simply securing a… an informant."

"Oh ho! Securing an informant, eh? What, like, getting an OZ soldier on our side?"

A few silent moments passed before Duo's voice piped back up.

"You're kidding."

"Not really," Quatre responded.

"What'd'ya fucking do to get THAT accomplished?"

"Ah aaaa! Like I'd tell you that."

"C'mon!" Duo whined. "Just a hint?"

"Nope."

"Damn you."

'Yes, damn you,' Trowa silently seethed. 'Why won't you tell us what's been going on?'

'And I thought I was the only one with such need for secrets.'

22:50 Hours --

Trowa had been silently stalked Quatre through the hallways of the manor ever since the blond boy had left the living room, leaving Duo to the TV and the candy bowl.

Trailing after him, he unwittingly followed him into his bedroom.

'Damn!' Trowa thought as he nearly panicked with the closure of the door. Hurriedly thinking, Trowa sought any available hiding place.

He found himself in the closet moments later, watching the other pilot through the cracks of the door.

And he felt himself sweating as he watched Quatre slowly peel his shirt from his body.

His thoughts, however, soon turned from the questionably lusty path they were tripping over to immediate concern. His eyes narrowed considerably as he stared at the long, angry red welts that ran over the boy's smooth pale back, accompanied by rough purple bruises and puncture wounds.

Trowa continued to stare as Quatre turned, his gaze concerned as he stared at the roughly stitched slice that ran across the small boy's stomach.

He barely remembered to back into the clothing and hide himself when Quatre ripped his closet door open.

Stilling his breathing, Trowa remained perfectly still as Quatre sorted through his shirts.

For some reason, the boy seemed to be taking an agonizingly long time attempting to choose between two nearly identical black tops.

After nearly two minutes of staring, Quatre decided upon an outfit and exited the closet, slowly closing the door to it behind him.

Trowa let his breath slowly return to his deflated lungs.

Glancing between the cracks of the closet again, Trowa attempted to watch the boy to further gain knowledge of what exactly had happened during his time with the soldiers after Trowa had been locked away.

He found himself flushed completely red and staring at the wall before him.

He'd expected Quatre to be wearing underwear….

23:45 Hours --

Trowa cursed as he felt himself blushing at the memory of infiltrating Quatre's room.

Then he felt himself pale.

The platinum-haired youth had selected clothing of questionable taste, hadn't he?

22:55 Hours --

Trowa forced his eyes to return to the room beyond the closet doors, and saw with temporary relief that Quatre had pulled pants on.

Temporary relief.

He soon found himself sweating and blushing again as he noted that the black leather pants the boy had squeezed himself into clung to his body like a second skin. They also had rather suggestive, strategically placed tears in the fine fabric and laces running up the left leg.

Trowa continued to watch, completely entranced, as Quatre pulled a black dress-shirt on and buttoned all but the top three buttons. Then he pulled on tall, heavy-toed motorcycle boots with silver buckles and laced a studded belt through the loops designated for such. Yanking on a loose-fitting leather jacket, Quatre finished the ensemble with finger-less gloves then marched over to the mirror. Ruffling his hair, he smiled at himself, his blue eyes narrowed coldly.

Trowa stared, breathless, as Quatre nodded and chuckled.

"Perfect."

'Tell me about it…'

23:46 Hours --

'He wouldn't be planning….'

'He couldn't…'

'He…'

Trowa brought the bike to a halt on the road, and looked over his shoulder in the direction he'd been riding away from so quickly but moments before.

'He wouldn't!'

A black speck zoomed into the air from the distant lump that was the Winner manor.

'Deathscythe…'

'They're on the move.'

With a soft sigh, Trowa closed his eyes.

'Quatre wouldn't…'

'But who's to really put anything beyond him?'

Trowa frowned.

'Maybe it's because…'

'Of me…'

22:30 Hours --

Duo had left the chess-room, sighing softly and stating that he needed to make certain his partner was all set to go.

Quatre turned his gaze to Trowa.

Trowa's flat green eyes stared blankly at the soft blue orbs before him.

"You're going to run, aren't you?"

"…."

"If you wish to, you may. I'll simply rearrange the plan," Quatre said, sighing softly.

"Sorry. I don't like the way you planned this game."

"That's why I didn't want to reveal anything to you…"

"You left it in the open for me to find, Quatre."

"I know. That was stupid of me, neh?"

Trowa simply nodded.

23:47 Hours--

'He would, wouldn't he?'

'He's not going to infiltrate himself…'

'He's not going to infiltrate… not how I'm thinking he's planning…'

'Well, he WON'T so long as I'm around.'

Turning the bike around on the road, Trowa gunned the engine.

His face screamed of determination as he roared down the road, headlight on this time to illuminate the soil before him. Glancing to his watch, he scowled, noting that it was nearing midnight. It was nearing the time plotted for the plan's initiation.

'I've got to catch him…'

'I've got to stop him.'

The bike roared loudly through the night.

_tbc..._


	9. Chapter IX

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

00:00 Hours --

Trowa punched down on the bike's clutch again, forcing it to lurch down the road more rapidly than before. Engine whining, steam billowed off the bike as the midnight's chill formed gentle dew that hung in the air.

Taking a scant moment to glance down at the gauges, Trowa grunted in frustration. The needle was hovering right by the red. He was going to burn the engine up before the night was through.

It didn't matter. As long as he could reach that base and find Quatre, it didn't matter.

He needed to go faster.

He cranked his hand on the throttle.

'Got to get there. C'mon, you stupid machine! Move it! I've known Fords that can move faster than you…'

Hunkered over the bike, he grumbled and cursed to himself as he tore over the field in the direction he'd seen Deathscythe fly, now well off the beaten path.

07:00 Hours --

Trowa sighed, seated on the couch next to Duo once more, awaiting Quatre's return.

It was like yesterday all over again. The only difference was that this time, Trowa had no idea if the blond was alone or not.

His hands folded as he looked with worry at the door, stoutly ignoring the braided pilot at his side.

Duo's snoring, thrashing, mumbling and crying in his sleep, however, did make it quite hard to ignore him.

Glancing over his shoulder, his face carrying the faintest hint of exasperation with the sleeping boy, he lifted his sock-clad foot and rested it on Duo's knee.

Instantly silenced by the faint bit of human contact, Duo gripped his braid in one hand, hugging it close to his chest and sleeping more soundly.

Turning his attention back to the door, Trowa shrugged. "If you actually stay awake next time we have a few moments, Duo, I'll tell you that Heero's fine."

00:20 Hours --

The bike slid violently along the ground, bouncing along rocks. It careened into a tree, then bounced against the building close to it and landed as a crumpled heap by the structure's base. Then, as two wires connected, a spark flew.

KABOOM.

Trowa staggered to his feet, his eyes focused on the remains that once were the motorcycle he had been straddling that lay a good thirty feet away from him. Glancing up, he stared at the Leo that towered over him. Backing away, he slowly lifted his hands into the air.

And he stared without emotion as the top half of the Leo slid away from its legs and clunked loudly onto the ground before exploding.

Shielding his face with his arm, his hair fluttering wildly with the force of the explosion and his skin singing, Trowa gritted his teeth as he felt his sleeves begin to crackle with flames and his jeans smoke with the heat radiating from the nearby mobile suit.

Lowering his arm as the flames died down, he patted his sleeves free of fire and stared up into Deathscythe's giant green eyes. "Duo."

"Trowa! What the hell! I thought you ditched us, man?" Duo's manic voice cried, flowing from the mobile suit's loud speakers.

"Where's Quatre?"

"Fuck… one and two word… argh, forget it! I'll bitch at you later! He's not here."

"What?"

"He's not here! Now either amscray or get yourself into a suit before you get slaughtered!"

Trowa's thoughts reeled.

Quatre wasn't here.

He nodded to Duo's suggestions and turned to run as Duo swung his Gundam sharply on its heel to swat the three Aires that were descending behind him from the air like bugs with his scythe.

07:30 Hours --

Trowa's eyelids were quite heavy.

Still, he refused to let them shade his eyes and force him into the darkness of sleep his body so fervently desired.

He had to wait for Quatre to get home.

He had to make certain that his Quatre was alright.

Stifling yet another yawn, Trowa turned his attention back to the television. The flashing images were helping, but only a little. Turning the volume up was the next step in his quest for continuing to function in the state of awareness he barely possessed.

Heavy metal music blared from the speakers as the music video played on. Nodding along with it, Trowa barely remembered to thank the servant as the woman returned to the room, bearing with her a bucket of vanilla ice cream and a spoon.

Trowa dug in.

00:25 Hours --

Trowa calmly hefted the M16 in his hands. Turning, that same calm, removed glaze upon his face, he lifted the mighty gun and lined up his sites. And, with the same expressionless calm, he yanked the trigger.

No amounts of glee, joy, sorrow or regret showed upon his face as the Aires tumbled from the sky.

Tossing the empty weapon aside, Trowa lifted one more weapon from a dead soldier.

And, with the same calm he'd displayed while using the previous gun, he loaded the AK47 assault rifle.

Soldiers ran.

He simply shrugged before opening fire. 'Anyone who sees me must die. It's the rules of the attack. I didn't create them.'

08:00 Hours --

Lifting his cup of Java, Trowa sipped slowly.

He'd gotten one heck of a brain freeze from wolfing down all that ice cream.

00:30 Hours --

Trowa climbed towards the hatch of the fallen Leo.

After inspecting it for damage and determining that it was still completely operational even after having stepped on the landmine Trowa had found and planted, the wiry boy scrambled to its chest and looked the suit over for the release valves.

Finding the handles, he turned them and wrenched the door open.

The soldier within was soon screaming, holding his bloodied nose with his hands as he was thrown clear of the suit.

Jumping down into the suit, Trowa quickly strapped himself in and yanked the hatch closed. Punching a few buttons, he activated the suit's stabilizers and thrusters, boosting it back onto its feet. And, planting himself in typical Trowa style, he lifted the Leo's beam rifle and opened fire.

Mobile suit after mobile suit fell to the onslaught of ammunition.

However, one slight miscalculation soon had him near panic.

The rate of fire from the beam riffle was considerably slower than from Heavy Arms' gattling gun.

The enemy was soon on top of him. Out of options, Trowa yanked the beam saber from its holster upon the Leo and activated the weapon.

'Well, I haven't practiced hand to hand recently. Looks like this is a great time to catch up.'

08:15 Hours --

The door creaked open.

Instantly, Trowa's green eyes were focused on it, his mind already preparing his speech to scream at the blond boy, his fists already clenching into fists. Heart wildly pumping in his chest, Trowa swung between wanting to run to the door, snatch the boy from the outside world and cradle him to his body and wanting to lambaste him for making him worry so much.

Trowa's world seemed to shatter, his emerald orbs filling with shock and sorrow, as a brown-haired individual that stood nearly a head over what the platinum-haired pilot did entered the living room.

He looked familiar.

'Johnson. OZ soldier. The one who was with us in the interrogation room. The one who met with Quatre in that bar.'

'What the hell is he doing here?'

The man he'd identified as Johnson walked in, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his casual blue jeans, his plain white tee shirt hanging slightly skewed around his thin shoulders. Removing one hand from his pocket and running it through his closely cropped, spiky hair, he flashed a cock-eyed smile at Trowa. "Didn't imagine I'd see you here. Thought you'd have left the area."

Trowa's eyes narrowed.

00:50 Hours --

He'd barely managed to shake the suits that had attacked him off.

Turning towards the nearly leveled remains of the base, Trowa lifted his beam riffle.

Suddenly, he stared as the monitors of his heads-up display became crackling static. Tossing open the hatch, he hurriedly leaped from the Leo and ran as quickly as he could away from it.

It exploded behind him even as its giant mechanical head bounced upon the ground.

Thrown to the ground by the force of the blast, Trowa remained perfectly still even as his clothes once more started to smoke. His arms covering his head were sore and tender from the heat, and burned as more caressed them.

He flinched slightly as he heard the loud footsteps of a giant mobile suit approaching him.

Bracing himself, Trowa attempted to rise and bolt.

He heard a gun click immediately before him.

Pulling immediately to a halt, Trowa got to his feet and stared. The OZ soldier before him narrowed his eyes and slowly began to pull the trigger.

Then the uniformed man screamed as his body was incinerated by the heat of a swiftly striking thermal blade many times his body's size.

Turning, Trowa looked up.

"Gaw! Sorry 'bout that, man. Couldn't tell you from the rest. Good thing I recognized ya when ya hit the ground, neh?"

"Duo."

"Aa."

"Mission completed?"

"Yeppers! Just gotta finish demolishing this base." Deathscythe lifted its scythe.

"But what about the disk?" Trowa asked, his eyes actually widening slightly.

"Quatre said not to worry about it. That he'd get someone else to fetch it."

'He already had an ulterior plan…'

'So why did he want to use me…?'

08:17 Hours --

Trowa watched cautiously as the soldier walked over to the couch.

"Mind if I take a seat?" the man named Johnson asked, his demeanor friendly and open.

'Friendly and open. All the more reason not to trust him. He's hiding himself behind a mask…'

Trowa shrugged. 'I've got a gun in my pocket, buddy. One move, and I'll finish you.'

"Thanks." Plopping down, the man extended his hand. "I'm Xavier. Xavier Johnson."

"Trowa Barton."

Xavier simply closed his hand on empty air as Trowa stared at it. "Already knew that. Quatre told me all about you and Duo here."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He wanted to make certain that if I were to run into you, I didn't accidentally shoot you."

"Where is he?"

"Boy, really the conversationalist, aren't you?"

"Answer my question." Trowa's eyes narrowed into dangerous emerald slits.

"Fine. But I don't believe you're going to like the answer."

_tbc..._


	10. Chapter X

Review replies!

YiyangYoung: Yeah, I've had great fantasies about having the opportunity to sit down with an entire tub of ice cream all for myself, too. Figure skating, eh? It'd be the destruction of easy PRTs and no dieting for me. (laughs) And thanks for the compliments on the characterizations! Trowa… I know he's a silent soldier, but I always figured that the quiet ones have the most going on in their skulls. And Quatre I wrote this way to stave off from the 'little angelic beauty' that everyone characterizes him as. (rolls eyes) The boy destroyed colonies and butchered people from episode 1 'till the end, for crying out loud. Little angelic beauty, my butt. Glad you're of the opinion that he's plausible! I tried quite hard to make him mesh with the characterization in the series. And in response to your question, I'm lucky to not suffer seasickness. Aircraft carriers are pretty stable, but once waves get over 30 feet they rocking fiercely. (nods)

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

13:30 Hours --

Trowa sighed, leaning forward upon his seat, resting his chin upon his folded hands as his elbows pressed firmly into his knees. His dark eyes focused steadily upon the board before him.

Glancing away from the board, he waved to a servant who was dusting carefully around one of the meticulously placed chessboards that stood upon the far corner of the Persian rug from where he sat. She looked over, her chocolate eyes catching the rays of the sun that forced her to squint, and nodded.

"Anything I can do for you, Trowa-sama?"

"Please close the drapes. The sun is making it difficult to see."

"As you wish. Do you want me to turn on the lamps?"

"Aa."

With smooth and steady steps, the veiled girl walked to the translucent white drapes and loosened them from their rings, dragging them across the windows to block the intense light of the early afternoon sun. Instantly the rainbows that had previously been scattered around the room vanished as the sun's rays were blocked from their path to the beveled edges of the chess table Trowa currently sat at. With an easy stroll to the door, she flicked the light switch, bathing the room instantly in soft golden light from the four lamps and the lights secreted away within the pyramidal chandelier that dominated the ceiling above the delicate glass chess table.

"That will be all."

Glancing over, she nodded at Trowa's affirmation of the completion of her job for him and returned to dusting the other chess tables.

Trowa simply stared at the pieces he had arranged upon the board.

He'd replicated what Quatre had on the board that held the secrets to their last battle upon the main board that dominated the center of the room.

'Where would Quatre move from here?' he silently pondered, his eyes still dark with concentration and narrowed.

His hand hovered for a moment over the platinum queen that represented the still-missing blond.

08:20 Hours --

"Answer my question." Trowa's eyes narrowed into dangerous emerald slits.

"Fine. But I don't believe you're going to like the answer."

Trowa silently awaited Xavier's revelation.

Sighing softly, the soldier turned his gaze to the television, folding his hands in his lap. "He's with Channok. Gregory Channok. An affiliate of Douglas Kesslinger, friend of Col. Tsuberov."

'Gregory….'

'That sounds familiar….'

03:45 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa's brain calmly relayed the information he'd gathered from the bug he'd planted on Quatre's shirt across his mind's eye.

The man's name was Gregory. He was a friend of James Waverly. He was also affiliated with Douglas, whoever that was. He was working as a computer consultant and had been called in to check out some sort of security breech and a virus that couldn't be repaired. He was usually stationed out on the eastern seaboard of the continent of North America, but had been ordered to travel out here to assist in repairing and reestablishing the network that had apparently been broken into by Rebel forces.

08:21 Hours --

"Channok. That's the man he met in the bar yesterday."

"Yeah. Greg's one of James' good friends. Not exactly someone to be trusted, but…"

"Why would Quatre be with him?"

Shrugging slightly, Xavier smirked. "Because of his affiliations with the organization, my friend. Quatre lost his link when Browens had to be eliminated."

"Explain."

Xavier arched a brow. "Quatre hasn't told you the details yet, has he?"

Trowa was swiftly becoming annoyed with the fact that this Xavier apparently knew more about what was going on than he did.

"Man, if he hasn't told you anything, it's gonna be a long tale to tell. Maybe we can continue this conversation in the kitchen? Don't know about you, but I had to skip breakfast this morning to make it over here, and I'm starved."

"Fine."

13:40 Hours --

Trowa's hand slowly crept away from the platinum queen as he shook his head. 'I can't do this. I can't think this way. I can't relate to this game like Quatre does, and therefore can't follow whatever it is he's planning.'

Returning the platinum and gold pieces to their beginning position, he rose from the plush chair and strolled over to the original board that held the battle setup they'd just completed bringing to reality - the very battle setup that had Trowa running from the implications it held in its inhumanly still portrayal of strategy.

"Queen threatened by the pawn. Rook Sandrock immobilized, unprepared to move. Rook Deathscythe surrounded by knights, bishops and rooks. Pawn to be killed by the king. A suicide mission…"

"But if we were to be next to move rather than the enemy…"

"Queen would capture the pawn. Rook Deathscythe moves to square H3, and can systematically begin eliminating every opponent without danger. And the pawn…"

Trowa's eyes widened.

"King capture?"

22:25 Hours, 2 days ago --

Trowa allowed a small smile to play along his lips as Quatre's smile faltered slightly, his eyes acquiring the slightest shimmer to them.

"Aaa ah! You're forcing me to surrender my pawn. Clever, Trowa. Very clever."

22:42 Hours, 2 days ago --

'Both bishops, which had been relinquished with no worry in his eyes. He was more panicked over that pawn than he was over the bishops…' his mind reflected.

22:44 Hours, 2 days ago --

Trowa's brow furrowed. 'Quatre's going after my knight, eh? Well, if he thinks he's going to get another one of my pieces, he's sorely mistaken.' He hurriedly moved his endangered hero from F6 to G8.

Quatre smirked.

'What? But my knight is out…'

And, with a leap of a platinum knight from D5 to C7, Quatre lifted a golden pawn.

'He wanted… oh shit.'

"Check."

13:43 Hours --

His face falling back into its neutral position, Trowa attempted to calm the rapid beating of his heart. 'He wasn't going to sacrifice the pawn. He was going to capture the king, wasn't he?'

'Even in our first game…'

'He utilizes his pawns.'

'Whether he sacrifices them or saves them, he utilizes his pawns.'

He felt like kicking himself.

08:30 Hours --

Trowa simply stared blankly at the man named Johnson as he grinned, digging into the cereal that had been brought for him.

"Mmm. Honey Smacks. Always very good."

"You said you'd relinquish with details. I'm waiting."

"Have some patience, will you?" Xavier said between bites. "With all the ruckus you and your friend Duo caused on base, putting me out of a job and slapping me into a tent to sleep, you can have the nicety to let me finish my breakfast."

Trowa sat in silence as the man hurriedly finished his bowl. After he drank the milk that remained in the bowl's bottom and handed the ceramic dish to a waiting servant, Xavier wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and nodded. "You two certainly did a number."

"We aren't here to discuss that."

"Right, right. You want to know what Quatre's up to, don't you?"

"Of course."

Xavier nodded, as he waggled a finger at a maid and mouthed the word 'muffin.' "Alright. This is what I know."

Trowa listened patiently.

14:00 Hours --

Trowa eased himself into the chair before the computer, his back to ten-foot tall windows which had heavy drapes drawn across them to keep the desert heat from soaking the room. Taking but a moment to note the golden trim around the walls, the thick carpeting on the floor and the sturdy construction of the desk, Trowa quickly shrugged off the astounding display of finery and wealth that would have landed most other people. Rather, he pressed the power button on the computer. Listening to its loud bong, he flipped open the container that Xavier Johnson had given him.

The disk he'd fought to hard to make three days ago was finally back in his hands.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at the computer screen.

Login:

He quickly typed in Quatre Raberba Winner.

Password:

'Shit.'

With a shrug, he began rummaging through the desk for any hints.

09:40 Hours --

"So Quatre's really after this supposed Romefeller Foundation."

"Yep," Xavier said, sipping from his glass.

"And this is because…?"

"Romefeller's the sponsor of OZ. OZ's orders come from the Foundation. Therefore, if he knows the motives of the Foundation, he can easily predict OZ's movements."

"And he plans to use this Channok to do it."

"Aa. Just as he was using Browens before he discovered that Quatre was affiliated with the Rebel Alliance and warned Captain Bradshaw of the infiltration attempt going on at his base."

Trowa scratched his chin. He'd have to check Quatre's board later to see if he could identify this particular strategy on any of them. "And how is he doing this?"

"What do you mean?"

"He can't be portraying himself as a soldier. Otherwise he would have targeted Captain Bradshaw to alleviate suspicion over his presence. That would have been more logical…"

Xavier laughed. "Well, yes it would have been. But it would have been the wrong target, you see? He had to get close to Browens, not Bradshaw. Cap's pretty clueless when it comes to the Foundation. Browens was active with the committee."

"Ah."

"Besides, could you see Quatre as a soldier?"

"Now that you mention it, not really."

Xavier nodded.

Trowa simply arched a brow. "So how?"

"He's using the most powerful tool known to man, my friend," the OZ soldier said as he took another sip of his drink.

"He's paying them off."

"Nope. Men in positions of power with the Foundation aren't so easily bought off. For peons like Lesley, Waverly and me, that works perfectly, but not them."

"Then what…?"

"Seduction."

The slurping sound Xavier made as he drank echoed through the silent room.

14:10 Hours --

Trowa glowered at the computer.

Quatre, apparently, simply memorized all of his codes. No written passwords on paper, no scraps with numbers on it, no hints whatsoever.

'Shit!'

He quickly reset the machine, and was presented once more with the prompt.

Login:

Grumbling, he attempted to simply press enter.

Trowa fought his body, attempting to keep his forehead from smacking into the hardwood desk as it so longed to do as the computer clicked happily and logged him in as 'Guest.'

With a snort, he popped the disk into the drive and awaited its mounting on the desktop.

09:45 Hours --

Trowa stared blankly into space.

'Seduction.'

Xavier finished his drink.

'He wouldn't…'

Arching a brow, the OZ soldier leaned forward and waved his hand before Trowa's face. "Hello?"

'He wouldn't…'

"Yo." Snapping his fingers, he frowned.

"Huh?" Trowa intelligibly replied.

"Ah, sorry there. You were kind of spacing out."

"Sorry."

"And for the grand finale of my visit here," Xavier muttered, digging into his back pocket, "here you are."

Trowa stared as the disk, HIS disk, was tossed casually onto the table. "How did you…?"

"I was the one who pulled it off of you, remember?"

"You held onto it?"

"I retrieved it when you two started raising hell at the base. It was no problem. 'Securing valuable information' and all of that other shit," Xavier said with a smile.

"Why are you betraying your organization like this?" Trowa whispered, his eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion.

Smirking, Xavier chuckled.

"I'm not."

14:15 Hours --

Trowa's eyes were as wide as saucers as he stared at the computer screen, taking in the contents of the computer disk that had been burned for him by Quatre at the base those three long days ago.

The information he'd been entrusted with was valuable enough to be put to death over.

New developments and improvements with the Mobile Doll system.

Schematics on how to reproduce the system.

Current test sites.

Development lab sites.

Statistics on the functionality and capabilities of the system.

All encrypted to look like financial records, daily base logs, system reports and update logs.

Trowa slowly swallowed. If he'd known what he was getting himself into, he wouldn't have taken the mission in the first place.

Of course, the information he now had his grubby hands on could possibly be vital for turning the tidal wave that was currently plowing down on their heads.

He felt a satisfied smirk form upon his lips as he closed the file he was perusing. Then, something caught his eye.

It was a word file entitled 'contact log' that was saved on the desktop.

Curious, Trowa opened it.

_tbc..._


	11. Chaper XI

(grateful bow) Thank you for the reviews! And now for some replies:

Wolfkun: Ohhhh, he has yet to sink into the mire of plots that're circling… over his head? (wicked smile) It gets deeper. Trust me.

LilXzibits57: Updated as quickly as I could! Busy on the weekends, hellishly long workdays, duty… the fun of being in the Navy. Glad you like the story! (bow)

GundamPilot03: I aim to please! Glad you're still reading and enjoying this! And… well, Tro's got a lot more discoveries to go. (cackle)

Sanoske & Shar: Thanks for the review! I know Tro curses a bit, but… well, one can't always control what one thinks, neh? Heh heh. And Shar, hi-fives. Quatre's 'wow' now? Juuuuust wait. (big happy grin)

YiyangYoung: To answer your question, I don't include specific dates for one reason: the anime didn't give us any until the Eve War, and that didn't even get dated until Endless Waltz came out. This story takes place entirely in timeline, so to keep it easier on myself no dates were included. It just takes place a little more than a month after the New Edwards attack, as that's when Heero first opens his pretty eyes and goes "Hn" once more. :) Figured he needed plenty of time to convalesce, so there was plenty of time for Tro to have an impromptu mission (even though they all stopped after New Edwards. That 'continuity flub' is actually explained in this chapter. Huzzah!). And I'm glad you got the humor in the scene with the computer. Yes, they hate us. I realize this every day of my life at work – save for Macintosh. Macs love us and adore us. (hugs her iMac, begging it to continue working for her) Yay, Unix!

Yes, I'm long winded. Deal. :) I like giving personal attention to everyone who reviews.

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

14:20 Hours --

He felt a satisfied smirk form upon his lips as he closed the file he was perusing. Then, something caught his eye.

It was a word file entitled 'contact log' that was saved on the desktop.

Curious, Trowa opened it.

22:40 Hours --

Trowa sighed as he pulled the flaps of fabric across his chest and buttoned them in place. His fingers deftly slid each latch into place with ease and swiftness, even when clad in thick white gloves. Looking at himself in the mirror, he straightened his cap upon his head and tugged his uniform shirt into place.

Once again, he was the OZ soldier.

He smirked within his mind. For some reason, this role was becoming second nature to him. Almost as second nature as the role of Trowa Barton.

Glancing behind his back, he arched a brow as Duo marched in.

Deathscythe's pilot smiled happily as he walked to Trowa's side and looped an arm over his shoulder. "Well, holy shit. Don't you just look the part."

"It should be adequate to get me into the complex."

"Meeting downstairs in five minutes, man. Chad and James are here and waiting."

'Chad and James. Lesley and Waverly. Quatre's other contacts within the OZ organization. The other people he's paying off for their allegiance,' Trowa's brain reminded him.

"Just don't forget pants, dude."

"Aa."

Trowa felt a small trickle of sweat drip from his brow as he studied the mirror, then snorted at his own absentmindedness as he marched back over to his closet.

He'd thought it'd felt a bit drafty.

18:00 Hours --

Trowa stared at the curry that was set before him.

"Too spicy for you?" Xavier said with a grin and a laugh as he spooned a good helping into his mouth and chewed.

"C'mon, Trowa. It's not that bad!" Duo quipped, doing the same.

Trowa simply arched a brow as the violet-eyed boy waved his hands before his mouth and chugged an entire glass of milk but moments after swallowing his first spoonful of food.

Returning his gaze to his plate, Trowa sighed.

'It's not the food I'm worried about. It's Quatre. Right now, he's out with a Romefeller officer, infiltrating his household according to what Johnson's told me. He's in danger. And he's injured.'

Frowning, he glowered at a chunk of meat.

'Those injuries… they were extensive. He should be laying down and recovering, not running around like some damned fool masterminding his game with his living pieces. He needs to recover. Nothing life-threatening, but…'

'But whoever gave those to him knew exactly what he was doing. Just enough to cause pain without permanent injury.'

He pushed the food around with his spoon.

"Gonna play with it all night?" Xavier asked, glancing over.

"I still don't trust you."

Both pilot and OZ soldier stared at Trowa, as the outburst filtered past his lips.

"Really."

"Aa."

"Because I'm with OZ?"

"Iya."

"Why?"

"Because… I don't. You aren't telling me everything. And your quickness to betray your organization is unusual."

Xavier smirked as he shoved another spoonful of curry between his lips. "Hmph."

22:45 Hours --

Trowa kept his posture straight and tall as he walked down the stairs.

All eyes turned to him.

Nodding, he walked to an empty seat and placed himself on it. Turning his gaze to his companions in the room, he critically studied each, his eyes slightly narrowed as his brain processed everything his eyes were showing him.

Xavier Johnson. Leaning back casually upon the couch, his legs loosely crossed, dressed in blue jeans and a loose fitting white tee shirt. Thin and wiry with an angular face and a quick smirk. Brown hair, closely cropped and spiky, brown eyes that remained firmly set on everything they saw, never wavering once.

Chad Lesley. Sitting upright and at attention, both feet firmly planted on the floor, dressed in brown slacks and a tan shirt. A little heavy set, with a round face and a sparse beard with a moustache flirting with a stiff, straight lip. Also one with mouse-brown hair and chocolate eyes, always staring at whomever was speaking at the moment.

James Waverly. Also leaning back on the couch, his arms splayed out to either side of him, his knees casually spread, dressed in jean shorts that came to his knees and a white tank top that hugged a very muscular body. He had a ruggedly handsome face that housed dark hazel eyes, framed by long unbound brown hair that hung well past his shoulders. And constantly his face wore a smug smile, displaying pearly white teeth.

Duo Maxwell. Casually draped over both armrests of the chair he was laying in, his feet kicking idly in the air, his chin sitting in his hands which were braced only by the elbows which were pressed to the sides of the chair's armrest. His long braid had long since flopped off his back, leaving its end curled on the floor. Dark violet eyes stared suspiciously at the three men at the couch, casting a furtive glance to Trowa every once in a great while.

Catching Duo's gaze, Trowa shrugged.

'No, Duo. I don't know which one's the least trustworthy amongst this bunch, either.'

"Weeeell," Duo began, stretching out one leg, "why don't you gentlemen please inform us of your great and glorious plan is for getting our buddy out of danger?"

Xavier was the first to speak, holding up a finger. "Actually, it's not our intention to break him out. Quatre knows what he's doing. I don't think he'd appreciate the break in his plans."

Trowa snorted softly. "However, in doing what he's doing, he's endangering himself and the mission."

"True," said James, shrugging. "Which is precisely why we're going to snatch everything Gregory has on the Foundation from his personal computers while he's busy playing with our little blond friend. That way, the mission's covered. And he can get his ass out of there more quickly."

"Hmmmm," Duo mused, scratching his chin. "I don't much like that. Requires more infiltration."

"And after our base raid, we're hot targets," Trowa finished.

Duo nodded. "Exactly."

Xavier nodded. "Which is why we're thinking that it should be one of us going."

'I thought as much,' Trowa's brain spat.

"After all," the soldier said, straightening himself for but a moment to pull his white shirt back into place, "we're not targets. We're loyal, trustworthy soldiers. Or so they think."

"It'd be easy for any one of us to infiltrate," Chad finally contributed.

James smirked. "Easy as hell. And we can check up on your buddy while whoever's going is there, neh? Stop you two from worryin' about him."

Trowa felt his eyes narrow as he stared at the man called James Waverly.

"That's what you're so worried about, isn't it?" he said, his arrogant smile turning predatory. "I wouldn't worry so much. The kid knows how to take care of himself," Waverly finished with a shrug.

"Aa," confirmed Chad with a nod. "He's a seasoned soldier, capable of handling the situation he's put himself into."

Duo snorted softly. "Just because he's a soldier doesn't mean he's going to come out of this smelling like roses and successful as hell. The unexpected can cause all kinds of misery with even the best thought out of plans."

"Very true," Chad said, "but you forget that you're talking about what I call your most perfect strategist. His weapon is his intellect, Mr. Maxwell, and he has that in excess. He'll be able to compensate for any unexpected turns."

"You hope," Duo hissed.

The three soldiers simply looked at Duo.

"Otherwise, you die."

14:25 Hours --

Trowa scowled as he opened the file.

"Login:"

This was beginning to drive him nuts.

So, once more, he hit 'enter,' wondering if it would allow him in as a guest.

He scowled.

"Entry invalid. Please re-enter."

Typing quickly, he imputed "Quatre Raberba Winner."

"Password: hint: Who do you love?"

'Huh?' went Trowa's brain as he stared at the screen. Shaking his head, he snorted and hit the enter key.

"Can't remember, Quatre? Why don't you work around it:P From, Yourself."

Trowa stared for a few moments at the clue.

Then the light bulb went on upstairs. Maneuvering the mouse, he quit the file and went under the preferences file. Clicking on the users application he quickly browsed.

"Create New User."

"Trowa Barton. Password, Enigma3004."

'Ha.'

And, with a smirk, he went back to the file.

"Login:"

Nodding, he logged himself in.

"Welcome, Trowa!"

'Yes!'

23:00 Hours --

Trowa nodded as he slowly closed the door between the living room and the dining room. "Your thoughts, Duo?"

Duo snorted, crossing his arms over his thin chest, his eyes narrowed as he glowered at the door. "I don't trust any of them."

"Neither do I. But if you had to choose amongst them?"

"I… don't know. They're each creepy in their own way. Especially that Waverly guy."

Trowa nodded.

"Xavier's the coolest of the bunch, though."

"You really think so?" Trowa asked, arching a brow.

"Trust me. I'm usually very good at pegging personality types. I think he's definitely hiding something from us, but at the same time, he's the one among them that I trust the most. Which, obviously, isn't saying much at all."

"Right. What do you think he's hiding?"

"Ah hell… I don't know. But something's just… unnerving. How easily he's giving us all this information. He just shows up, introduces himself, gives us that disk you were trying to steal, tells us where Quatre is and what he's doing… it all seems way too convenient, doesn't it? Like he's covering something that he doesn't want us to know by throwing what we want to hear out to us like he was throwin' money to bums."

Trowa nodded. Duo's thoughts were running along the same paths as his own.

"But the one thing that's got me trusting him is the look of doubt in his eyes."

"Huh?" Trowa glanced over, his green eyes belaying some slight confusion.

"Listen to the others, Trowa. 'He'll be fine. He's a soldier. Don't worry about him. He can take care of himself.' All that shit. It's like they know something we don't, and are trying to hide it from us. Just 'cause a guy's a soldier doesn't make him invincible… if they think I'm gonna believe that for a second, they're dead wrong."

"Duo…"

Trowa simply stared at the shivering boy, his eyes softening slightly as Duo lifted a hand to the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger, wiping away threatening tears. Clearing his throat, Duo glared back at the door.

"Ch'. Bein' a soldier doesn't keep you out of Death's hands. We all know that."

"Duo, about Heero…"

Smiling faintly, the longhaired pilot closed his eyes. "Later, Trowa. Later…. Right now, let's just focus on Quatre, neh? Before he becomes nothin' but a memory, too."

Something in Trowa's chest did flip-flops, falling with a sickening kerthump amongst his intestines.

Swallowing harshly, the green-eyed boy turned his gaze back to the door and the three men he imagined he could see through it.

His heart clenched in a tight ball that refused to beat.

"Before he becomes nothin' but a memory, too."

'No.'

'Not my Quatre.'

14:30 Hours --

Trowa stared.

The contact log file was finally open.

'How…!'

And it displayed the IP numbers of every one of the Gundam pilots' personal computers, the networking numbers to the Gundam mission logs themselves, and rerouting numbers to disguise the Winner's terminal as one belonging to the scientists who were delivering mission orders and parameters.

In addition to that, mission orders came up.

Missions from the last month, since their meeting at New Edwards.

Future missions that had yet to come into play, apparently on a timer to be sent on appropriate dates.

All in accordance to some grander scheme that remained yet unexplained.

Trowa frowned as his eyes found a file he was hoping he wouldn't find.

"Barton: Travel to Base 143 - A19 to retrieve personnel records and watch schedules. Mission parameters: time - 2 days to complete, casualty allowable - 20 staff, equipment - personal armament. NO GUNDAM. Data recon only. Begin preparations at 02:00 Hours. reroute code: 770.93.283.01 file name: S"

"This mission was Quatre's plan entirely…."

"We've been following -his- orders…?"

Trowa smirked.

"Wonder how long this has truly been going on."

Then, with an upraised brow, he frowned.

"And I wonder why this was so easy to find…."

Shaking his head, Trowa continued perusing the file.

23:20 Hours --

Stepping out of the dining room, Trowa and Duo moved back to their chairs.

"We agree with your infiltration plan," Trowa started.

"Great!" Xavier chimed, his smile instantly appearing.

"With one change."

"Which is?"

"I'm going."

James narrowed his eyes. "That would do nothing but endanger all of us. You're the one that infiltrated before."

Trowa slowly nodded. "I know. However, I also recall that only you three, Browens the recently deceased and your Captain Bradshaw truly witnessed my last infiltration attempt and understood it for what it was. I doubt it will be likely that I will encounter your Captain or any of the other soldiers I temporarily served with will be at this 'Channok's' residence."

Chad sighed, slowly nodding. "I see."

"I don't trust you. Any of you," Trowa said, his green eyes narrowing dangerously while the rest of his face remained in its schooled, emotionless mask. "But since I will require assistance, I will take Johnson and Waverly with me. Lesley will return to your base camp to cover your absence. Duo will remain here to protect our interests."

Duo grinned, and shook his head. "Geez, Trowa, listen to you. Taking charge, giving orders, landing me with the boring jobs…."

Trowa quelled a chuckle, turning and flashing a rare wink at the other pilot that was happily returned.

Duo sighed, the movement highly exaggerated, as he flexed his fingers and looped his hands behind his head. "Damn, damn, damn. Well, guess I can stay here. Miss all the action. Shit. But at least I can keep an eye on our happy little neighbors, neh?"

Trowa watched Chad's reaction as Duo turned a rather disturbingly manic grin his way.

And Trowa arched a brow as the OZ soldier frowned for a split second before shrugging.

00:00 Hours --

Trowa grumbled as he replaced his cap upon his head.

It was something he deemed an unnecessary precaution, but then again, Duo did have a point. He might very well be recognized.

Still, it didn't stop him from being disgusted with what he had just done to his head.

'Duo better be right about the holding capabilities of this stuff, or I'll never forgive him.'

With his hair firmly gelled back, Trowa sighed and walked toward Johnson and Waverly, noting that the two were already in uniform and ready to go.

"The jeep?" Xavier suggested.

"Sounds good to me," Trowa offered as he walked toward the vehicle. "Xavier, you drive."

James scowled before shrugging and climbing into the back behind his comrade.

00:02 Hours --

Duo waved as he stood upon the front lawn, watching the jeep roar down the road to the east, its black form lit by the faint light of the moon and the twinkling stars that hung in the midnight sky.

Seconds later, though, all Duo saw was a field of black as his face crashed into the plush grass.

_tbc..._


	12. Chapter XII

Review replies! Yay!

YiyangYoung: Hope you did well on your test! (jumps around with pompoms, the poor effort reflecting that she was never a cheerleader) Glad you're still reading and enjoying the story! Stuff'll be explained… later. Much later. :P

Sanoske & Shar: Quatre and Tro together in the end? (bites her lower lip, trying not to cackle) Neh heh heh… (then flushes as her hand is repeatedly grabbed and kissed) Eh… (blushblush) Kawaii…

MikaSamu: Glad you like! I try hard to keep the writing as decent as possible, and characters relatively in character. Thanks for recognizing the extreme efforts here! As for evil cliffhangers, I haven't begun (muzzles self before she can say more, then simply gestures at the new chapter, ringing a bell to beckon its arrival)

GundamPilot03: Heh heh. You'll find out what happened a bit later. (wide smile) Glad you liked the chapter!

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

06:17 Hours --

Trowa leaned his chin in the palm of his hand, his elbow firmly planted upon the armrest molded into the paneling of the Jeep's door. Staring blankly out over the steadily lightening horizon, he watched as the early morning sun rays spilled from a thus far dune-hidden orb of light, caressing the desert sands as swiftly and delicately as a lover's faint touch.

He'd never thought mornings on the desert could be so incredible.

The sunrise shown with glorious hues of orange and yellow, highlighting the eastern end of the desert, making the sky above the brilliant display shimmer a bright happy blue. Delicate wisps of clouds rolled overhead, propelled slowly by some unfelt breeze. The golden sand that lay off either side of the road, stretching as far as the eye could see, glimmered gold like thousands of miniscule nuggets of precious ore.

"Roll up that window, will you? Gonna start heating up real damned soon out there. May as well keep some of the cool in."

Emerald eyes slowly closing, blocking the spectacular of the sun-swept sea of sand from his optical senses, Trowa rolled up the window as James Waverly had instructed.

"Thanks, Trowa," Xavier Johnson happily said, his attention remaining firmly upon the road.

"How much longer?" Trowa asked as he leaned back in his seat, eyes still closed, waves of weariness from lack of sleep lapping softly at his stressed brain.

"Probably about twenty minutes. We'll be there in plenty of time for the changing of the guard at 07:00, my friend. No worries."

'Aa, no worries, Xavier. No worries at all. Keep telling me that, and maybe one decade I'll start believing you.'

14:40 Hours, Yesterday --

"Barton: Travel to Base 143 - A19 to retrieve personnel records and watch schedules. Mission parameters: time - 2 days to complete, casualty allowable - 20 staff, equipment - personal armament. NO GUNDAM. Data recon only. Begin preparations at 02:00 Hours. reroute code: 770.93.283.01 file name: S"

"This mission was Quatre's plan entirely…."

"We've been following -his- orders…?"

Trowa smirked.

"Wonder how long this has truly been going on."

Then, with an upraised brow, he frowned.

"And I wonder why this was so easy to find…."

Shaking his head, Trowa continued perusing the file.

And, in further investigations, he discovered even more intriguing files were stashed within the archive.

Vidclips of the man Heero identified as Doctor J before self-destructing his Gundam, giving orders seemingly created by Quatre.

Email messages stating 'Here's that vidclip of those orders you wanted, 04. Hope you like it!'

And additional messages, scattered all over the place, asking for Quatre to politely stay out of 100.58.808.40s Porno Folder.

Trowa sniggered.

Drumming his fingers on the table, he took another glance over all the information he was looking at. "It's all vital information. I'd think he'd have it locked down more firmly than this."

"What is he doing?"

He chewed on his fingernails, staring at the screen.

06:40 Hours --

The Jeep pulled into the parking lot without hassle or provocation by the guards who stood by its entrance.

Nodding to one another, the three men got out of the vehicle.

"Now remember," Xavier reminded Trowa for what seemed to be the fiftieth time of the trip, "you are Triston Blaine. You are a newly enlisted recruit. You are here under orders of Colonel Genedier, Base #415 - B7."

"My home is Firebough, California. My parents both died during the Gundam attack of the New Edwards based, which they were stationed at as Mobile Suit pilots. Their names are Tracy and Leon Blaine."

"I think he's got it, Xavier," James chuckled behind Trowa's back.

Trowa kept his face perfectly schooled in its neutral mask as they approached the huge mansion that apparently housed Colonel Gregory Channok.

'Channok. Quatre's target. Affiliated with the Romefeller Foundation, which is the directive force behind OZ. Associate of Douglas Kisslinger, partner of Tuberoff, creator of the Mobile Doll system.'

'Alright, so it's obvious why Quatre would go after someone in this position.'

'Just wonder why he chose whoever this guy is.'

He found himself looking at the lips of the man speaking to him.

"Triston Blaine from Base #415 - B7, sir. Sent by Colonel Genedier."

"Oh, so you're Blaine, eh? Welcome to Arabia, hottest hellhole on earth," the Captain, according to his bars, chuckled as he clapped Trowa upon his back. "Ready for your first duty, recruit?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. You and your friends here start your watch shift at 07:00 Hours. You're going to be with Johnson, guarding the East wing's interior. Waverly, the Colonel wants to meet you in the basement before you start North end."

"Got'cha, sir," James said with a smirk as he saluted sharply and marched off.

Trowa watched as the other soldier walked away, turning his gaze only when he felt Xavier's hand fall upon his shoulders. Turning, he gazed blankly into the chocolate eyes that were focused on his.

"Shall we go get some doughnuts, Triston?"

"Sure thing."

10:08 Hours --

Trowa resisted the urge to sigh once more.

One hundred steps to the end of the hallway. Turn left. Fifty steps to the end of that hallway. Turn right. Twenty steps. Nod to Xavier to signify all clear. Walk around the corner, continue roundabout patrol, checking in from time to time with the soldiers passed to signify that everything was clear.

It was so redundant.

But at least he could keep his eye on the other soldier. With patrol so tight, there was no way that Xavier Johnson could slip away from him.

Trowa still didn't trust the man.

Shaking his head, he turned around again. This time, however, he paused.

He heard voices on the other side of the door.

06:55 Hours --

"What else do I need to know?"

Xavier quickly stuffed the last of his cherry jelly-filled doughnut into his mouth and licked the glazed sugar coating off his fingertips. "I think you've got it all, Triston. You know what's going on, home and here. No problem, right?"

Trowa nodded, as he took his last bite of his chocolate ring and picked up his coffee mug. "So, where's James?"

"Ah hell, who knows? James is one of those special Sergeants, you know. Special rate and everything."

"What?"

"Interrogator. He specializes in torture. Kind of freaky, when you think about it."

'Torture….'

'Of course, I already knew that.'

"And he takes pleasure in his work?" Trowa asked, arching one brow as he lifted his mug to his lips to sip his coffee.

"Apparently. James… he's kind of a creep, but you get used to him."

"And on a private note."

"Eh?" Xavier questioned, slurping from his orange juice container, leaning forward on his bench.

"His loyalties."

"We'll discuss that at 'home', my friend, when we're well away from prying ears."

10:10 Hours --

Trowa slowed his walk down the hallway, bringing himself to a stop outside of the door. Glancing around, he frowned, noting a security camera pointed right where he was.

'Damn. Can't listen in. At least, not so obviously.'

Leaning against the door, he calmly fished through his pants pockets. And, with a satisfied smile, he drew a package of Double Mint gum from the left rear pocket. Drawing a stick, he popped it into his mouth, disengaged himself from the door, and continued on.

The tiny receiver planted on the doorjamb fit in perfectly with the stained oak that made up the trim of the walls.

Reaching a slender finger as if to scratch at his newfound sideburns created by slicking his hair back with Duo's styling gel, he calmly pushed the receiver more firmly into his ear.

07:00 Hours --

Glancing down the hallway, Trowa nodded before returning his attention to the map before him. "I've got the patrol route. No problem."

"Excellent," Xavier said with a smile. Leaning closer, he whispered in his ear. "Cover if I vanish. I'm going to periodically check the computer systems to see if I can pinpoint what we're looking for. I'm certain that if James is doing anything worthwhile, he's probably going to try the same thing. Hopefully by tonight we can get you permanently out of here. It's a bit risky shuttling you around, you know."

Trowa simply nodded. "I've got it. Jelly doughnuts, to be delivered…"

"HUSH! Geez, call everyone down on us, you bastard," Xavier said with a grin.

Trowa winked slightly.

Xavier nodded, indicating his comprehension of the cover. "Alright, recruit. Get to your post."

Saluting smartly, Trowa clicked his heels together to make the gesture more mocking than it already was. "Aye aye, sir!"

"Land soldier."

"Oo-ra!"

Xavier laughed out loud as Trowa let the slightest of smirks pass upon his face, turned away and marched off down his assigned patrol path.

10:11 Hours --

Trowa frowned as he narrowed his eyes, focusing his attention more on his hearing than his sight at the moment.

The conversation that was occurring behind the bugged door was difficult to hear.

"You shouldn't have been moving around, pet. With your injuries…" a deep voice crooned quietly.

"Gomen nasai, Gregory. I just…" whispered a lighter one.

"No excuses. You're to remain laying upon that mattress until you heal."

"H… hai." The quieter voice laughed lightly.

"I still feel so wretched for not noticing your injuries until after we'd-"

"It's alright," the light voice interrupted, the hint of a giggle upon its edge. "I've seen worse."

"Really… a creature like you, having seen abuse worse than such? I can hardly imagine…"

Attempting to resist the urge to gag, Trowa scratched at his sideburn by his right ear, discretely discarding of the minute microphone he'd hidden away. Rounding a corner, he tossed it into a potted plant's soil.

His vivid teenage imagination was giving him more imagery based on the conversation he'd just overheard than he wished to see across his mind's eye.

Suddenly, his footsteps stopped.

Feeling sweat upon his forehead, Trowa spared the slightest of glances back before hurriedly continuing his march along his patrol route, hoping to finish it more quickly than usual as to return to that doorway.

He'd finally recognized the softer, higher pitched voice he'd heard in that room.

'Quatre….'

_tbc..._


	13. Chapter XIII

Am heading off to sea, so no updates for a little while. Not until the end of May, anyway.

Ah, replies to reviews; rewarding paragraphs to type are these!

MikaSamu: Well, Trowa always seemed to easily adapt to his situations in the series, so that aspect's being reflected. :) Sorry, but this story'll contain many more cliffhangers – I can't seem to stay away from those. (apologetic smile) Hurrying! See, more story!

Wolfkun: I've always seen Quatre as a manipulative, conniving little twerp. But I've always loved him anyway. (lol) Actually, it was when I watched the series straight through the second time when I really started noticing those facts you're pointing out, and ideas for this fic bounced through my head. And the 'newtype' concept! Floating Relena-heads! (blink) Eh, never mind that. (grin) But anyway, thanks for your support! I hope the continuation of this story continues to please you. (humble li'l bow)

YiyangYoung: Lots of 'bs'ing, eh? Don't worry – I BS'ed my way through nuclear power school. (laugh) Still made it! . And as for what Tro'll do… (demented grin)

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

12:00 Hours --

Trowa walked right past the kitchen. Nodding to some of the other soldiers who were making their way to the facility to snatch whatever was coming off the roach coach for lunch, he made his way to the hallway he expected to see Xavier Johnson walking down.

'Right on schedule,' he noted as he caught sight of the man he was searching for walking along side of James Waverly.

Nodding to them, he strode up to their side. "Hey, you think there'd be a problem if I toured this place instead of stopping for lunch? Had that big breakfast, you know. And I've yet to see this place. It's kind of fascinating."

Xavier grinned, even as James turned a bit of a glare to him.

"May not be that great of an idea, there, Triston," James snorted. "What, with the base attack a few days ago…"

"Oh come on, James," Xavier quipped. "He's a soldier of OZ, for crying out loud. What harm could there be? If they question him, all he's gotta do is prove his legit. Let the boy wander."

Snorting, James shrugged. "Be back on your post at 13:00, kid."

"Sure thing," Trowa responded with a shrug. "I just want to tour is all. No big deal."

Xavier grinned. "Go for it. Nobody'll care. Just tell anyone who questions you that I gave you permission. And, as your supervisor, I can do whatever the hell I want."

"Sure thing."

With a nod, Trowa walked down the hall of is patrol route.

'First thing's first. I've got to check out that room.'

10:12 Hours --

"You shouldn't have been moving around, pet. With your injuries…" a deep voice crooned quietly.

"Gomen nasai, Gregory. I just…" whispered a lighter one.

"No excuses. You're to remain laying upon that mattress until you heal."

"H… hai." The quieter voice laughed lightly.

"I still feel so wretched for not noticing your injuries until after we'd"

"It's alright," the light voice interrupted, the hint of a giggle upon its edge. "I've seen worse."

"Really… a creature like you, having seen abuse worse than such? I can hardly imagine…"

12:02 Hours --

Trowa repressed the angry scowl that he felt coming on.

His curiosity simply had to be satiated.

12:20 Hours --

Trowa resisted the urge to curse, still wandering the hallways.

He'd been regularly passing that doorway, waiting for Quatre's visitor to leave the room so he could check on his fellow pilot.

'What is Lesley doing here, anyway?' Trowa snarled in his mind.

Turning the corner, he glared at the potted palm tree that stood in his way before walking carefully around it.

'Duo's supposed to be watching that guy.'

'Of all of them, I think I trust him the least.'

'Always suspect the quiet one.'

Trowa felt himself grin at that one.

12:10 Hours --

Trowa neared the door that blocked the room he suspected Quatre was still housed in from the hallway, his eyes blank and narrowed.

Suddenly, he was ducking around the corner.

Glancing around carefully, making certain he remained unnoticed by soldier and camera, Trowa glared coldly at the portly man who was quickly making his way into the room.

"Quatre-sama, I have done as you requested," Trowa overheard Chad Lesley saying in his distinct, throaty voice.

'Done as you requested…?'

'Quatre… what…'

'But isn't Duo supposed to be…?'

Trowa felt himself pale slightly.

'Duo.'

08:13 Hours, 3 Days Ago --

"You strategize using a Chess board?"

"Hai. And it usually works very well. Chess… it's very insightful. It replicates real life so very well… all the unpredictable pitfalls… all the plotting that's

required to reach your goal…"

-- 22:55 Hours, 3 Days Ago --

Rather than the typical set of pieces found upon a typical chess board, this one sported an entirely different figurine collection, each piece's true identity recognized only by the letter emblazoned upon the bottom of it as Trowa discovered in his critiques of the craftsmanship of the statuettes.

And the opposing pieces:

Deathscythe the rook.

-- 22:31 Hours, 2 Days Ago --

The mobile suit knights, bishops and rooks were focused on Deathscythe the rook.

12:12 Hours --

Trowa felt his eyes widen slightly.

'Duo. Just another piece on the board. A rook. A powerful piece, yes, but…'

'Quatre readily sacrifices his powerful pieces when necessary. I saw that while playing against him.'

'But he wouldn't sacrifice that pilot, would he? They appear to be best friends…'

Snorting quietly, he shook his head. 'Of course, how can I possibly pretend to know anything about what he's up to…'

16:20 Hours --

Stretching his legs, Trowa sighed.

"Ah, finally heading home. It's a grand feeling, isn't it?" Xavier said, his smile in place as he laid his foot heavily upon the accelerator of the Jeep.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Thought that damned day would never end," James confirmed from the back seat of the vehicle.

"How'd you like it, Trowa?" Xavier questioned.

"Like any other job. Get anything done with the computer system?"

"Some," Xavier said with a sigh. "Security on that damned system is tighter than I expected. They've got more passwords than a whore's got clients."

James chuckled from the back seat. "Vivid imagery there, Xavier."

"How about you?" Trowa interrupted, turning slightly in his seat to set his gaze upon Waverly.

Shrugging, James sighed. "I'm an interrogator, not a computer hacker. What more do you want from me? Tried my best, got next to nothing. As Xavier said, there's pretty tight security 'round that thing."

"Because it's all Romefeller archives," Xavier said with a shrug. "Of course it's going to be locked down tighter than we're used to."

"I could give it a try," Trowa suggested.

"Maybe you could in a couple days. It's not a good idea right now. You're suspected, after all, being the new guy. Right, James?"

"Sure."

Trowa arched a brow. For some reason, James Waverly didn't sound like he agreed with his comrade.

"What the hell is that?" James said moments later.

"What?"

"That plume of smoke. No, the giant flailing purple porcupine that's also dancing right in front of the car, Xavier."

Xavier chuckled, then frowned as he returned his eyes to the road before them. "Hell if I know."

'It's in the direction of the Winner manor,' Trowa's brain noted as he arched one eyebrow.

"You don't think…" Waverly began, letting his sentence fall into oblivion.

"We'll see, won't we? But why…" Xavier stated, doing the same, falling into silence.

"Maybe that braided idiot blew something up in the microwave," James said, chortling.

Xavier remained tactfully silent, his eyes narrowed slightly.

'What the hell…' Trowa thought, staring.

'What the hell's going on?'

12:50 Hours --

Chad Lesley had finally left the room.

Breathing the slightest sigh of relief, Trowa stepped through the door, closing it behind himself.

The other soldier hadn't even seen him.

Opening his eyes, Trowa stared at the sight before him.

The blond pilot he'd been searching for was laying upon a large four post bed, buried in thick beige blankets and a stripped comforter, his blond head resting upon a thick, puffy pillow who's white coloration nearly washed out his too-pale face.

Walking over, Trowa leaned over the edge of the bed and lightly traced over the boy's fair cheek with a fingertip.

'Quatre…'

"Mmmm… Gregory…?" the blond boy whispered quietly, cracking open one dark blue eye. He stared.

"Not quite."

"You…!"

"Aa."

"You're not supposed to be here," Quatre hissed softly, slowly struggling to sit upright.

Aiding him in his valiant fight, Trowa frowned. "Am I simply supposed to sit at your manor while these two run about, finishing the mission we're supposed to be accomplishing?"

"Two? Who else is here besides Waverly?"

"Johnson."

With a groan, Quatre forfeited Trowa's assistance by simply collapsing back into the bed. Laying his hand tenderly upon his stomach along the wound Trowa'd seen earlier that was currently buried in a pile of blankets and pajamas, he closed his eyes harshly, his lips turning in a frown. "Damn it."

"What?" Trowa quietly questioned.

"This completely alters the plan."

16:57 Hours --

Leaning his elbow once more upon the molded armrest in the Jeep's door, his chin firmly planted in the palm of his hand, Trowa stared at the rolling dunes outside of the vehicle.

'Completely alters the plan, eh?'

'Wonder what he meant by that.'

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard the other two men gasp.

"No way…" Xavier breathed softly.

"What the hell!" James snarled.

Opening his eyes, Trowa looked at the road ahead.

The smoke column they'd been eyeing since leaving the OZ controlled mansion had finally revealed its source.

Fortunately, the servants and fire fighters appeared to have the fire that was billowing from what used to be the living room of the Winner manor quite under control.

_tbc..._


	14. Chapter XIV

Ah, back from the briny blue. So good to be home.

Review replies!

Morris: AH! Sorry I didn't catch your review with the last chapter – you must've posted it right after I posted chapter 13, before it showed up (cursed fanfiction . net and its lag time)! Crap. Thanks for the compliment! I'm happy you're enjoying the characterization. I'll strive to keep up the quality. :)

YiyangYoung: Whyyyy do you fear the demented grin? Eh heh heh. And as for questions about Quat - he's not immune to everything, but he's damned on top of almost anything that can be thrown at him. He's not perfect, though. :) And glad I threw you for a loop. (LOL) That's the purpose of most've this fic. (VEG)

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

11:55 Hours --

Trowa marched around the corner and nodded to Xavier Johnson. After saluting the other man, he continued along his patrol route, eyes narrowed, step quick with determination.

'Five minutes to lunchtime. Five minutes before I find that terminal myself. I can't wait any longer for that information to wrap this up. Something's happening on the home front that I can't ignore.'

Rounding the corner, Trowa glanced up at a security camera.

'First thing's first. Got to find a computer terminal and disable security to that room.'

'Should be something I can accomplish today without any problems. After all, it's nothing I've never done before.'

'Hmph. And the last time I was saying that to myself, I was locked in a cell.'

'Bad time for reminders about that, Trowa. Concentrate on the here and now.'

Nodding with his own thoughts, he found himself before the door he knew lead to Gregory Channok's room. Frowning, he wondered if Quatre was still there.

'Probably is. He is injured, after all. He shouldn't be moving around all that much.'

Rubbing aimlessly at his own dully-aching side, he grimaced. 'Neither of us has recovered yet from that night, eh? Hmph. Well, it was only, what, five or six days ago…'

'Enough thought rambling, Trowa. Only one minute until lunch.'

He checked his watch, verifying his internal clock's accuracy.

'And we've GOT to wrap this up today. Especially with Duo missing. That investigation needs to be taken up as soon as is possible.'

'We can't afford to lose anyone.'

17:00 Hours, Yesterday --

Johnson and Waverly were out of the Jeep as soon as it came to a stop. Trowa soon followed, staring at the manor in complete disbelief.

Even from the outside, the extent of the damages was quite apparent.

The large bay windows that once allowed light to pour across the living room within were blown out, pieces of glass littering the flower bed and lawn that were outside. Smoke poured through the shattered windowpanes, even as firefighters were dragging their hoses back to the engine that was parked on the plush grass.

The plumes of noxious black fumes slowly abated as the last of the civil personnel emerged from the structure.

"What happened?" Xavier immediately questioned, his eyes wide in shock as he faced one of the men who emerged from the smoke-stained household.

"Hell if I know," the man replied, shaking his head. "All I'm aware of is that we received a panicked call from the servants here saying that there was a loud boom and the house was on fire."

James remained silent, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the manor. Trowa, who was standing at his side, was an exact mirror of the other man, gazing intently at the house.

Trowa was the first of the two to speak. "You have any ideas?"

"Some."

"Better start talking buddy."

"Is that braided kid still around?"

Trowa felt his eyes narrow. "We'd better check."

"Yeah, you better."

Arching a brow, the green-eyed pilot regarded the man at his side. Waverly ignored him, keeping his gaze on the building.

With a shrug, Trowa walked over to the congregation of servants who were still being kept from entering the manor.

"Has anyone seen Duo?" he ventured to ask.

One man, one of the butlers as Trowa recalled, frowned. "No, sir. We haven't seen him since you left. I thought he'd gone with you."

'What the hell!'

"You're certain?"

"Yes, sir. You mean he's gone missing?"

"Apparently," Trowa muttered, turning his gaze to the mansion.

12:00 Hours --

Trowa cracked his knuckles.

'Security camera unplugged - check.'

'Security system set to playback tape from last hour in lieu of recording and displaying current images which would henceforth be unobtainable thanks to the fact that the camera is unplugged- check.'

'Security system monitor ridiculously drunk and therefore unable to comprehend that he's watching a recording rather than a live image - check.'

'Time to play with passwords.'

He sighed, slowly starting his way into the network.

'Quatre is after Channok's information regarding the Romefeller Foundation, correct? About what their plans are for OZ in the future regarding the colonies, the remainder of the Alliance, us…'

'Damn, I wish he was here. He could tell me exactly what to look for.'

With a shrug, he slid the CD-R into the computer's drive.

'Let me see. What to use. Ah, preferences… may as well initiate myself into the system as a verified user, right?'

His fingers danced over the keys.

18:00 Hours, Yesterday --

The situation had finally returned to a semblance of normalcy.

Standing in the shell that was once the living room, Trowa stared at the floor near where the television set used to be.

'No question. This is the site of the detonation. This happened thanks to a planted bomb. The blast pattern on the floor tells that easily enough.'

Stooping, he picked up a shard of plastic and looked it over.

'Someone planted a bomb in the television and hooked it to the power supply so that when it was powered on, it would activate the explosive device. Easy enough to see that. It's the same concept used with car bombs. Something I learned at a young age.'

Frowning, he turned the plastic around in his fingertips.

'But why use the television?'

'Unless the intended target was indeed Duo. He was the TV hound; at least as long as I had been observing him he was.'

'Why target Duo?'

'Maybe because he's as much of a threat as I am.'

'I wonder if Quatre knows about this.'

12:10 Hours, Yesterday --

Glancing around carefully, making certain he remained unnoticed by soldier and camera, Trowa glared coldly at the portly man who was quickly making his way into the room.

"Quatre-sama, I have done as you requested," Trowa overheard Chad Lesley saying in his distinct, throaty voice.

'Done as you requested…?'

18:20 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa sighed.

'Of course Quatre knows about this.'

'Hell, at times, he even seems to be in on this.'

'Which means that, to determine what's going to happen next, I have to figure out what he's plotting.'

'Good luck, Trowa.'

Tossing the chunk of television back down, he looked over at the shredded remains of what was once the plush leather couch.

'At least we know that Duo made it out alright. If the servants hadn't seen him around the manor since I left with Johnson and Xavier to head to the base and create my alternate personality for this mission, then he most likely was out of harm's way when this thing went off.'

His eyes fell upon the ambulance that was finally rolling away down the street.

'So instead of Duo, some nameless servant takes the blast.'

He blinked without emotion, no single twinge of regret bothering his heart.

12:07 Hours --

Trowa arched a brow as he broke through the seventh firewall he'd thus far encountered.

'They certainly weren't kidding when they said that security was tight. However…'

He smirked, as Codebreaker 3001, a program of his own design, shattered the next 15-digit login sequence in record time.

'They're amateurs. It's not the worst I've ever encountered.'

18:40 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa grumbled quietly as he finished his inspection of the living room.

His investigation hadn't turned up a single fingerprint.

"Find anything?" a harsh voice called behind him.

Calming his suddenly racing heart, Trowa turned and shook his head in response to the question asked by James. "Nothing. Whoever did this covered his tracks well."

"Alright," James said with a sigh.

'Relief? Or frustration? Hmph. And I thought I was a difficult person to read.'

"Anyone seen Chad, by the way?" Xavier asked as he walked into the room, plate of cookies in one hand and a glass of something that looked incredibly strong in the other.

"Not yet," Trowa replied as he stood up straight and dusted his hands off on his jeans.

"You think he's still in the area? After this shit? Wouldn't surprise me if he wasn't the one behind it," James snorted.

"You really think that?" Xavier questioned.

Trowa simply stood by silently, watching the two men verbally duke it out. 'Dissention amongst the ranks, eh?'

With a sigh, Xavier walked over to Trowa, holding out the plate. "Want one? You've had yet to eat anything all day."

Trowa looked at the plate with suspicion in his eyes. "No thanks."

"They're not poisoned."

"How can you prove that?"

"Want me to eat one?"

"You may be resistant to whatever you put in them."

Xavier laughed and rolled his eyes. "Touché. I see the lack of trust here."

"I thought I'd made that obvious since the start."

James sniggered quietly, shaking his head, snatching a cookie off of Xavier's plate and cramming it into his mouth. "Don't let him fuck with your head, Trowa. Xavier's a harmless moron. Plus he can't cook. These're probably from the servants."

"Watch your mouth, James," Xavier snorted before grinning. "But he is right about the cookies."

Trowa watched the two, then politely shook his head. "Not in the mood for chocolate chip, anyway. I'll have the servants bring me dinner later."

"Suit yourself."

Trowa shrugged as the two left the room, reengaged in their arguing. Turning back to the blasted remains of the living room, he sighed quietly.

'This is just getting more interesting every damned day, isn't it?'

Rubbing his head to ward off the impending migraine that was marching towards his skull with sledgehammer in hand, he retreated to the kitchen.

"Food. Anything chocolate. And anything you have with alcohol in it."

The servants scurried.

Trowa was pleasantly surprised when a bottle of JD was placed in front of him. 'Must say that this is the most intriguing Muslim household I've ever heard of. Alcohol on hand, eh? Quatre, I'm going to have to grill you about this later.'

His mind cackled quietly as his outer features remained stoically unemotional. Lifting the bottle, he unscrewed the top, grabbed the shot glass that was given to him, and proceeded to work his headache away in the most reliable fashion he knew.

12:15 Hours --

Trowa's eyes widened as he finally broke through security, and the spreadsheet began to load.

'Finally!' his mind cried even as he began typing the sequence of commands necessary to send the document to Zipit and burn it onto his CD-R.

His fingers suddenly paused as he heard the click of a gun's safety being disengaged behind his head.

"I knew you'd try."

Raising his hands carefully and slowly, Trowa felt his facial muscles form a frown.

"Turn around… Trowa."

Turning, he kept his face systematically blank as he did as his capture commanded.

Facing the person who'd caught him off guard, he let the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding slip from his lungs.

He was staring down the barrel of a familiar Desert Eagle Magnum.

Beyond that barrel was a pair of familiar dark blue eyes, framed by a far too pale face and platinum blond hair.

"Hands on top of your head."

Trowa complied.

And with a sigh, the blond boy walked to the wall and picked up the telephone hanging by the door, keeping his extremely deadly gun aimed at his target, his eyes focused on the kill. Lifting the receiver, he breathed into the device before sighing quietly, "Lab 19. I have our infiltrator."

_tbc..._


	15. Chapter XV

MikaSamu: Oh, just wait. This chapter should clear up a bit of stuff before I start playing with the plot again. (laugh) I'm glad you're enjoying it, and I'll strive to keep it coming! (rings gong to announce another chapter's posting) And as for that twist in the last one… it couldn't be helped :)

YiyangYoung: I'm glad you liked my little twist. (wicked smile) As for clues, this chapter will help a little. Happy you're still reading and liking this story!

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

22:58 Hours --

Trowa snarled curse after curse in his mind.

'Good one. Good one. Land yourself right back where you started. Damned moron! Argh!'

He would have kicked himself if he weren't overly bound.

Cracking his green eyes open once more, he stared at the increasingly familiar scene of pitch-black darkness.

His arms were once more shackled from wrist to elbow behind his back, tugging at his aching shoulders, straining his injured side. His feet were bound together as well.

Trowa wiggled his feet back and forth.

'Feels like rope. At least it isn't shackles.'

Turning over again in the dark chamber, attempting to relieve the pressure being placed upon his still healing rib, he grunted quietly.

How long he'd been in that chamber was quite a mystery to him.

12:15 Hours --

Trowa's eyes widened as he finally broke through security, and the spreadsheet began to load.

'Finally!' his mind cried even as he began typing the sequence of commands necessary to send the document to Zipit and burn it onto his CD-R.

His fingers suddenly paused as he heard the click of a gun's safety being disengaged behind his head.

"I knew you'd try."

Raising his hands carefully and slowly, Trowa felt his facial muscles form a frown.

"Turn around… Trowa."

Turning, he kept his face systematically blank as he did as his capture commanded.

Facing the person who'd caught him off guard, he let the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding slip from his lungs.

He was staring down the barrel of a familiar Desert Eagle Magnum.

Beyond that barrel was a pair of familiar dark blue eyes, framed by a far too pale face and platinum blond hair.

"Hands on top of your head."

Trowa complied.

And with a sigh, the blond boy walked to the wall and picked up the telephone hanging by the door, keeping his extremely deadly gun aimed at his target, his eyes focused on the kill. Lifting the receiver, he breathed into the device before sighing quietly, "Lab 19. I have our infiltrator."

23:00 Hours --

Trowa let his breath slowly escape his lungs.

'Of course he'd turn me in. Stupid Trowa.'

'I was going to blow his cover.'

'But the way Johnson, Lesley and Waverly had made it sound, obtaining the information Quatre's after should have eliminated the necessity for him to be in this overly dangerous position.'

22:47 Hours, 2 Days Ago --

"Weeeell," Duo began, stretching out one leg, "why don't you gentlemen please inform us of your great and glorious plan is for getting our buddy out of danger?"

Xavier was the first to speak, holding up a finger. "Actually, it's not our intention to break him out. Quatre knows what he's doing. I don't think he'd appreciate the break in his plans."

Trowa snorted softly. "However, in doing what he's doing, he's endangering himself and the mission."

"True," said James, shrugging. "Which is precisely why we're going to snatch everything Gregory has on the Foundation from his personal computers while he's busy playing with our little blond friend. That way, the mission's covered. And he can get his ass out of there more quickly."

23:02 Hours --

'But in turn, all we've successfully done is endanger Quatre.'

'Could that be their plan?'

Trowa sighed. 'No. If that was their plan, why would they go through such elaborate means?'

'Unless, of course, he was already a step ahead of them and they've been scrambling to catch up.'

'But why him?'

22:56 Hours, 2 Days Ago --

"Very true," Chad said, "but you forget that you're talking about what I call your most perfect strategist. His weapon is his intellect, Mr. Maxwell, and he has that in excess. He'll be able to compensate for any unexpected turns."

08:13 Hours, 4 Days Ago --

"You strategize using a Chess board?"

"Hai. And it usually works very well. Chess… it's very insightful. It replicates real life so very well… all the unpredictable pitfalls… all the plotting that's required to reach your goal…"

23:05 Hours --

'When seeking a victory, always go after the brain of the operation.'

'That's the key signature of Chess, isn't it, Quatre?'

'The King directs the actions and movements of his loyal subjects, who would willingly lay down their lives for his majesty.'

'The King is the brain behind the movements of the army.'

'Capture the King, and you win.'

'So very obvious…'

Trowa slowly flexed his fingers, attempting vainly to keep blood flowing to his fingertips, which were as of that moment starting to go numb.

'Going after Quatre is obvious. The round about methods would be necessary if Quatre's a step ahead of them. Blowing his cover in this operation would do it.'

Trowa suddenly stopped in his pondering.

'But…'

'They left the blow to me…'

16:22 Hours, Yesterday --

"How'd you like it, Trowa?" Xavier questioned.

"Like any other job. Get anything done with the computer system?"

"Some," Xavier said with a sigh. "Security on that damned system is tighter than I expected. They've got more passwords than a whore's got clients."

James chuckled from the back seat. "Vivid imagery there, Xavier."

"How about you?" Trowa interrupted, turning slightly in his seat to set his gaze upon Waverly.

Shrugging, James sighed. "I'm an interrogator, not a computer hacker. What more do you want from me? Tried my best, got next to nothing. As Xavier said, there's pretty tight security 'round that thing."

"Because it's all Romefeller archives," Xavier said with a shrug. "Of course it's going to be locked down tighter than we're used to."

12:07 Hours --

Trowa arched a brow as he broke through the seventh firewall he'd thus far encountered.

'They certainly weren't kidding when they said that security was tight. However…'

He smirked, as Codebreaker 3001, a program of his own design, shattered the next 15-digit login sequence in record time.

'They're amateurs. It's not the worst I've ever encountered.'

23:13 Hours --

Pressing his forehead into the cool concrete he was laying on, Trowa let yet another sigh escape him.

'They had me set up.'

'They were after me…'

'And Duo…'

12:08 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa was the first of the two to speak. "You have any ideas?"

"Some."

"Better start talking buddy."

"Is that braided kid still around?"

Trowa felt his eyes narrow. "We'd better check."

"Yeah, you better."

Arching a brow, the green-eyed pilot regarded the man at his side. Waverly ignored him, keeping his gaze on the building.

23:14 Hours --

'And they got Duo out of the way, too. Somehow.'

'I wonder if that guy's alright.'

Trowa's thoughts were interrupted as the door was drawn open.

Squinting as bright light poured across the chamber, Trowa attempted to focus his gaze upon the shadow of whoever it was that was entering the small, damp chamber he'd been tossed into.

Soon, he was staring at a pair of dark boots. One of those boots lightly tapped his forehead.

"You awake, mister?"

'James Waverly.'

"Aa," Trowa replied with a sigh.

"Good. Come with me."

Trowa barely managed to keep his footing as he was yanked roughly to his feet. He remained still as another soldier pressed the barrel of his rifle between his shoulder blades, allowing James to bend over in safety and confidence to untie the ropes that bound his feet.

Struggling to keep up with the swift pace James set, Trowa kept his face stoic and flat, even as his eyes bored into the man.

"I'm going to be questioning you, sir," James stated quietly, glancing over at his captive.

Trowa nodded with understanding as they arrived at a large oaken door.

Throwing it open, James shoved him inside, then turned to the soldier who had accompanied him. "You're free to go, Private."

"Yes, sir!" the boy cracked, snapping his salute and marching off.

Turning, James sighed, unclasping the top buttons of his uniform shirt as he rested his other hand upon his hip. "I'd suggest you simply answer the questions I ask you, sir. Be aware that this room is under video surveillance, and that if you make any attempt to overpower me, not only will you regret it because I'll severely kick your pathetic pasty ass, there'll be fifteen soldiers with Tommy Guns in here faster than you can say 'Holy Shit.' Got that?"

Trowa nodded.

"Good," James said, his smile cocky and arrogant as he leaned over to Trowa's face. "Sit down."

Trowa obeyed.

"Now, tell me about your real name, sir."

"Samuel Whitney."

James smirked.

22:30 Hours, 5 Days Ago --

"Now you will tell me why you are here, and what you were intending to do."

Silence filled the room, as dark green eyes peered darkly at the man in the folding chair.

"He was following my directives."

Trowa and the officer turned as one, both setting surprised gazes upon the short blond boy who, until now, had stood silently.

"Do tell," the austere man said with a smirk.

"His name is…"

'NO! What do you think you're doing, Quatre?' Trowa's mind screamed in rage. 'You're going to blow everything!'

"Samuel Whitney."

'Eh?'

"Really," the OZ officer said, arching both brows. Rising from his chair, he walked over to the slender boy.

Quatre seemed to suddenly weaken, his face showing fear for the first time since Trowa had laid eyes upon him, his lips trembling. Taking a step back from the man who suddenly seemed to tower over him, Quatre's wavering eyes looked with what could only be called the highest degree of utmost terror and respect. "Samuel Whitney. Following my orders."

Trowa stared.

23:28 Hours --

Trowa bit his lip as fire raced along his back, ripping cleanly through his shirt and lacing across his bound arms.

Walking around to face his front, James Waverly flashed a predatory smile at Trowa and lifted his chin with the haft of a whip he'd procured from somewhere.

"I've heard that shit before, sir. And frankly, this time, I'm not going to believe you. So I want the fucking truth. And I want it before I have to flog every last scrap of skin off your pathetic, skinny little frame. Is that clear?"

Trowa hissed softly as the pain flared along his skin.

"This whip's been treated, if you're wondering. Soaked in a nice alkaline base for a few days. The leather's really set to fall apart. Doubt I'll be able to use it after today… but such is quite a small sacrifice, considering what it'll do to you in turn."

'That explains it. Burns…'

"This shit'll eat right through your flesh, sir. And the more I flog you, the more gets into your body, the worse it gets. If you don't give me an answer I like within the next, oh, ten minutes, I start getting creative. So talk."

And, leaning forward, James rested his lips beside Trowa's ear, using the banged boy's head to block the view of the camera, reaching around with a hand to finger the long wound running along his back thereby causing the stinging sensation to only increase further than it already had.

"And for both of our sakes, Barton," James quietly whispered, "make your lies good."

_tbc..._


	16. Chapter XVI

Review replies:

MikaSamu: I'm happy that you were pleased with my depictions and the last chapter! I hope it made a few things come together for you. And so, the next chapter. (rings gong)

YiyangYoung: Well, I'm running out of smiles! No demented ones, no wicked ones… what am I supposed to do? (laugh) And as for it being confusing, how do you think it is for me trying to keep the plot together? Yeesh. (grin) Well, here's another step towards pseudo-completion. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

07:19 Hours --

Trowa narrowed his eyes as he stared at the keypad.

He was standing in the hallway of the Winner manor once more, dressed in his comfortably familiar jeans and turtleneck. The normally straight waterfall of hair that topped his head perkily stood at every imaginable angle, blocking every effort he made to see what was before him. Eyes half closed and actually showing weary annoyance with the world in general rather than emotionless blank mirrors, the servants were making certain to give this gangly, staggering, strange creature all the room he wanted as he tromped through the house in his black slippers, muttering to himself.

Lifting a hand to his face, he grabbed the hair that was splayed all over the place and giving him a look reminiscent of a poorly-woven straw hat being strapped to his head. He snorted and drew it to one side. After two more attempts to keep it under control, his stubborn mop decided to remain where he placed it, allowing him to get at least half of a decent image of the world around him.

He stared once again at the keypad.

'I don't see what's so special about this thing. It's just another locking mechanism for the door.'

The keypad shined merrily as the early morning sunlight spilled into the hallway through the large window at the end of the hallway.

Squinting, Trowa continued studying it. It appeared, in all rights and respects, to be a keypad used to code in a password that would translate to a frequency thanks to the small computer chip within the casing and the capacitors they connected to. Hit the correct frequency, electricity would flow at the correct voltage, and a small motor would run, then lever within the mechanism would trip, snapping a wire in place and hence completing the unfinished circuit all these devices held. Circuit complete, power would be sent along the lines to start the motor that resided in the door jamb that would then drag the heavy knob of metal called the deadbolt back out of the door, thereby unlocking it and allowing entry to the room beyond.

Nothing he hadn't seen before.

He glanced over his shoulder, glowering at yet another servant.

The butler hurriedly backed away, fear evident in his face. The green-eyed boy usually showed them nothing but an emotionless mask, but early in the morning, he could be a very vivid and frightening person. It seemed he was not a morning person at all.

"I already know that the door is unlocked."

"Alright, sir. Then I shall leave you to your observations, sir." Hastily bowing, the servant quickly resumed his walk down the hallway, nearly shaking in his boots.

With a sigh, Trowa turned back to the door.

'Argh. It's just like every other keypad I've seen, Quatre. What the hell am I supposed to be looking for?'

00:43 Hours, 2 Days Ago --

Trowa hissed softly as the door to his cell slid open, allowing wave upon wave of stark white light to cascade into the dingy little room. Squinting to block the majority of the harsh glare that emerged from the lamps outside of his prison den, he stared at yet another black silhouette that appeared and approached him.

'Don't tell me it's James back for more questioning,' Trowa's mind groaned.

Closing his eyes, unable to see nothing more than black on white, Trowa sighed. He wasn't certain if he could make it through another wave of that man's torture techniques.

His back still burned like fire - a sensation that was compounded by the fact that he had tight bandages wrapped about his frame and a tight shirt on. His hands, laced with tiny pinpricks, itched like crazy and were held firmly in place, apart from one another and facing away from one another so he couldn't utilize his fingers to scratch the irritation away. His legs felt like nothing more than spaghetti noodles from the numbing drugs he'd had pumped into his muscles. The front of his chest burned from the small dribbles of boiling fat and grease that were sprayed upon him. His head hurt from the pressure of the vice it'd been stuck into for the last 20 minutes of his interrogation.

'Yep. We're in bad shape here, Trowa,' his brain kindly observed. 'If that's him back for more, best just to ask for death or give everything away… remember his words? That his creative juices just weren't flowing, and he didn't have the equipment to do what he really wanted to do? Ugh.'

'And this being the result of him "going easy, because you are an ally and all," just makes me wonder what this guy's like on normal prisoners…"

'I wonder how Quatre made it through this…'

00:07 Hours, 6 Days Ago --

"Get Sargent Waverly. He should be able to offer some interesting insight on what is to be done with this irritating little captive of ours."

02:12 Hours, 5 Days Ago --

"Hm. Ah, who the hell knows with someone as odd as Waverly," the first voice continued.

"Is he even on our side? I doubt that at times. I mean, what he did to you…" Lesley cut in.

"Is acceptable."

"Eh?" both men questioned at once in reply to Quatre's stark answer.

"It was an acceptable gamble to take, considering the stakes. It was an acceptable road to travel. He did it to keep from blowing our cover, gentlemen. You should be grateful."

The unidentified man's voice growled his disapproval. "Whatever you say, man."

"Anyway," Quatre's voice began again, "We can be certain of his loyalty. I know this…."

"It's telling you that?" Lesley asked.

"… Aa."

22:52 Hours, 5 Days Ago --

He found himself in the closet moments later, watching the other pilot through the cracks of the door.

And he felt himself sweating as he watched Quatre slowly peel his shirt from his body.

His thoughts, however, soon turned from the questionably lusty path they were tripping over to immediate concern. His eyes narrowed considerably as he stared at the long, angry red welts that ran over the boy's smooth pale back, accompanied by rough purple bruises and puncture wounds.

Trowa continued to stare as Quatre turned, his gaze concerned as he stared at the roughly stitched slice that ran across the small boy's stomach.

00:45 Hours, 2 Days Ago --

'Probably the same as I am. Quatre probably just laid in pain, recovering, until he got our escape underway.'

'Hmph. He's not as delicate as he looks…'

Lifting his gaze again, Trowa blinked rapidly, attempting to adjust his vision to see something other than black and white.

After a few moments, he was able to see the person standing before him, illuminated by the portable lamp that was set up in the center of his closed, damp cell.

His eyes roved quickly over the black matte sandals, black fishnet stockings, the ripped black short shorts with the ragged cuffs, the light azure long-sleeved dress shirt with the flared collar that billowed around the thinly framed person and tucked into the top of those shorts and the black felt choker to rest upon a thin, pale face framed by wisps of platinum hair.

"Quatre…?"

Lifting a finger before his lips to indicate his longing for silencing the mention of his name, the boy sighed and smiled. "Hai."

"What are you doing here?" Trowa asked as he struggled against pain and bonds to attempt to sit up.

"Checking on you, silly. Let me help."

Trowa relaxed slightly as Quatre eased him into a sitting position, then knelt before him on the smooth concrete. Finally turning his weary gaze to the boy, he frowned. "And you turned me in…?"

Quatre slowly leaned forward.

'Great. He's going to give me another one of those "That a question for another time" lines, isn't he?' Trowa's mind growled, right before his train of thought was completely derailed.

He felt Quatre's warm breath brushing along his cheek, progressing towards his ear.

Shivering slightly, Trowa closed his eyes as he felt the other boy's gloved hand slowly grip his shoulder.

"You were going to blow my cover, Trowa. I've been working on this operation since before the Gundams were shipped to Earth. Since H and I decided that Dekim was full of shit, and we were going to do things our way. And I'm not about to allow anyone to blow this operation. Not when I'm this close to catching him."

"Who?" Trowa whispered softly.

"Kesslinger."

"What importance is he?"

Quatre's light laughter flowed past Trowa's ear, ruffling his hair. "He's got ties with Tsuberov."

"Who is?"

"Trowa…"

"What?"

"I can't tell you everything."

"You don't trust me."

"No, it's not that. It's simply that this isn't the time or the place for it."

'Told you so,' Trowa's mind snorted.

Letting a quiet sigh pass his lips, Trowa glanced over at Quatre's face. "So why are you telling me this here and now?"

"So you understand why I had to turn you in."

"And why do you want me to understand that?"

Leaning back slightly, Quatre smiled enigmatically, folding his hands together. "Because I do. I don't want you angered with me."

Trowa simply lifted a brow.

Leaning forward again, Quatre buried his face into the crook of Trowa's neck. Suppressing shivers, Trowa had to force himself to concentrate on his ears to catch what Quatre was whispering rather than paying attention to the tickle of warm breath upon his flesh at his collarbone and the light brush of lips upon his skin.

"Go to the manor. The keypad that locks the room with my chess boards. There's a secret there. Look for it."

"And how am I supposed to esc…"

Trowa was silenced by thin fingers brushing over his lips.

"If you care to notice, your shackles are off. I believe you can take care of the ropes yourself. After I get out of here, wait about five minutes… the ventilation grill behind you is unscrewed. Go through the piping. Always hug the right wall. Xavier will be waiting for you at the other end."

Green eyes widening, he stared at Quatre.

"Yes, I already arranged it," the blond boy whispered, a faint smile crossing his face. "But one thing, Trowa…"

"Yes?"

"Watch yourself. I don't want you hurt."

"Aa. You too, Quatre."

"Of course."

And, with another quick flash of a smile, the boy was gone.

07:30 Hours --

Trowa frowned, his fingers delicately scratching his chin as he stared intently at the keypad as he'd been doing for the last ten minutes.

Kneeling, he looked at it from the bottom.

His eyes widened slightly.

A miniscule piece of white wire was visible, going from the bottom of the keypad into the wall, entwined with the red and black that he already knew from previous dealings with that particular model of keypad lock lead to the deadbolt motor.

'White wire… that's not supposed to be there.'

'Is this what he was referring to?'

Smirking, he marched down the hallway. Moments later, he returned with a toolbox

07:35 Hours --

Trowa once more was scratching his chin.

The cover to the box, the keys and the screws that held the assembly together were lying in a small guarded pile on the floor. A circuit board hung by its wires out of the box that was the disassembled remains of the keypad.

He used a thin index finger to trace the mysterious white wire to an unlinked capacitor.

'What the hell.'

Lifting the tip of his voltage meter, he touched it to the device. 'Live, eh? Let's see what happens when I kill this thing.'

Grabbing his soldering iron, he placed the hot tip to the wire and gently eased it away.

From within the room, he heard the grinding of gears and gentle tinkling sounds.

'What the hell!'

Bolting upright, he ripped the door open, and stared with unbelieving eyes.

The pyramidal chandelier that dominated the center of the room's ceiling had descended.

_tbc..._


	17. Chapter XVII

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

07:38 Hours --

Grabbing his soldering iron, he placed the hot tip to the wire and gently eased it away.

From within the room, he heard the grinding of gears and gentle tinkling sounds.

'What the hell!'

Bolting upright, he ripped the door open, and stared with unbelieving eyes.

The pyramidal chandelier that dominated the center of the room's ceiling had descended.

22:20 Hours --

Trowa sat calmly upon the hill overlooking Gregory Channok's OZ provided mansion, his emerald eyes narrowed and glistening with the faint light of the stars and moon above.

Tugging his denim jacket more firmly in place, the soldier sighed quietly as he adjusted his position upon the grassy hill, fervently hoping he wasn't getting grass stains on the butt of his favorite jeans.

Glancing down at his wrist, he lightly tapped the buttons on his watch. The gentle blue light of the indiglo face caressed his pupils.

'10:20 PM, eh? He's running a bit late.'

Turning his eyes back on the mansion, Trowa let his fingers tenderly stroke the Barrett M90 sitting upon its stand next to him, taking time to linger over the cool, sleek, pleasant AWD Turbodyne suppressor.

07:40 Hours --

Trowa stared in awe.

The chess table with the aquarium base was gone, the floor where it was located having dropped below the rest of the deck, taking the chunk of rug that was atop of it with it. Hanging from thick chains and attached to pulley gears above, the section of ceiling with the chandelier hanging from it now dangled at waist height above the room's floor.

Atop of the suspended 'table' was a computer.

Finally done gawking, Trowa slowly walked into the room.

First thing he did was to lie on the floor below the suspended chandelier and peer into the hole.

'Interesting. THAT'S how they service the aquarium.'

Slowly backing out of his position, he stood up and stared at the computer. Drawing one of the huge, plush chairs over, he hit the power button.

Welcome to Winner Industries: Mainframe

Enter Login Name:

Shrugging, he started digging through his pockets.

01:15 Hours, 2 Days Ago --

He'd finally made it out of the ventilation shaft.

Shaking himself, watching billowing clouds of dust float from his body, he snorted quietly and looked around.

Headlights were visible.

Judging by their size and distance from one another, the vehicle was about 50 feet away.

Eyes adjusting slowly in the scanty light of night, Trowa slowly made his way towards the vehicle. Upon reaching it, he slithered into the passenger seat and nodded to the driver.

"Ah, finally made it, eh? Been waiting out here for damned near 20 minutes."

"It's a longer crawl than you'd think."

"Really!" Xavier turned to him and smiled before starting the Jeep's engine and rolling towards the gates. "By the way, get onto the floorboards. I've gotta get us by security, you know."

Trowa complied and didn't move an inch as he felt a blanket and boxes being dumped onto his sore, beaten body. He strained his ears to hear the conversation, noting with a nearly audible sigh of relief that no questions were asked and that the Jeep began rolling happily back down the path again, undisturbed and apparently free of pursuit.

"You can come up now," Xavier's voice chortled after about ten minutes of time had elapsed.

Slowly and painfully getting out from under the boxes, Trowa sighed and eased himself into his seat. "Thanks."

"No problem at all, man. Just followin' orders."

"I see."

"By the way," Xavier started, gesturing towards the glove box, "you'll find a slip of paper in there for you. Quatre told me to get it to you, no matter what the cost. Don't worry, ain't been tampered with." Flashing a reassuring smile, he quickly returned his attention to the road before him.

Trowa opened the cubbyhole, and peered inside.

He lifted a sealed envelope from its dark depths. Turning it over in his hands, he nodded, reading the kanji script flowing neatly across its front.

"So, what's it say? I can't read that language. What, is that Arabic?"

Trowa simply shook his head, as he translated, "Open me later. You'll know when."

07:46 Hours --

Trowa drew the battered envelope out of his back pocket and turned it over.

'Now's as good of a time as any.'

Sliding his finger under the flap, he broke the flimsy glue seal and drew the note out that was within. He slowly unfolded it, then let his eyes rove over the message. After a few moments, those roving eyes widened considerably.

"Login: Quatre Raberba Winner Password: H-ArmsP-TB03falseUNK"

'H-ArmsP-TB03falseUNK…?'

Slowly, he typed in Quatre's name, then hit enter.

The computer monitor flicked to the next screen.

Login:

(hint: Dreams)

(Note: Case-sensitive)

His fingers carefully entered the series of letters, hyphens and numbers that were written on the paper. Pressing enter, he watched as the screen flashed again, then brought up the Winner Industries company logo.

'I'm in.'

Glancing down at the paper again, he frowned.

'Dreams?'

22:31 Hours --

Trowa sighed quietly.

'What's taking so long? According to that sheet, he should be here.'

Suddenly, fire erupted from somewhere on the sprawling mansion's grounds.

'Finally.'

Slowly rising, Trowa stretched and cracked his knuckles even as OZ Mobile Suits were brought out of bunkers previously hidden in the sprawling lush lands that bordered the harsh desert and flew as quickly as possible to the site of the attack to defend their location.

07:50 Hours --

'Hm. Select Language, eh? Wonderful array of choices you have here, Quatre.' Trowa's fingers grasped the mouse, and slowly slid it to his choice. Clicking, he nodded, waiting for the computer to process his request.

This, of course, did not take nearly as long as he expected. Soon he was presented with nothing more than a blank screen.

'What the hell? Did I just kick myself out of the system?'

Letters began scrolling over the screen.

'System user.'

'By your language selection, you have just proven that you are not Quatre Raberba Winner. Please enter your name.'

'Damn.'

With a shrug, Trowa sighed. "What the hell," he quietly muttered as he looked down at the piece of paper that said, "After typing in these bits of information, just follow the directions on the screen. No trying to hack around it, and no trying to deceive it. :)"

"Fine."

His fingers inputted 'Trowa Barton.'

The screen flickered again, this time bringing up a text file.

Trowa quietly read it out loud.

"Trowa, if you are reading this, it can only mean that I've been captured and that the plan has all but completely derailed. Very likely, this is because someone attempted to infiltrate in a vain attempt to rescue me, even though this was strictly against mission parameters for this assignment. But there's no interrupting the flow of time and reversing what's been done, neh?"

Shaking his head, he sighed. "Sorry, Quatre," he whispered before continuing.

"The board that is set up behind you and to your left at this moment in time carries upon it the strategy for this particular mission. All pieces are to be disregarded. That plan no longer works, as is evident by the fact that you are reading this file. Please move the queen from this board to the one directly east of it, and place that piece at square D5. I will be working with this board later."

Rising from his chair, he did as told without question, then returned and continued reading.

"Now at 22:20 tonight, you will need to carry out one more assignment at the current residence of Gregory Channok. If my assumptions are correct and a sliver of my plan is still in action, the mansion will be under attack. You will need to stop the infiltrator from completely destroying the facility. If that facility goes down, I'm going to be going down with it."

Trowa nodded. 'That makes sense. Destroy the prison, you kill the prisoners.'

"There's a pretty little rifle you can use in my room. Mysha knows where it is, and will fetch it for you."

'Great. Saves my ammunition.'

"Make certain that before you leave you repair the wire you had to snap to get onto this terminal. The desktop computer has already been hacked by someone other than yourself - this is assuredly known, as it is relatively unsecured. The mission logs and data that are on that computer, though, are to the main extent of things falsified, so don't worry about leaving it wide open for hacking. :) You always forget to clear history if you're in a hurry, you know."

'Eep!'

"When you return to this room, please continue with this session. Retype the login name and password, reselect your language, follow the simple instructions, and this file will continue at that time."

'Fine.'

"Good luck, Trowa. I'm depending on you."

'Hold on, Quatre. I'm coming.'

Nodding, he reached for the switch, and flicked the terminal off, his eyes failing to skim over the last sentence that appeared on the screen before it died into blackness.

22:33 Hours --

Laying behind his sniper rifle, Trowa slowly twisted the screw upon the stand, lowering the barrel of the gun. Peering through the telescope site, he watched the world through a crosshair-laced tunnel, attempting desperately to find the source of the explosion.

Soon he saw the person behind the attack racing through the mansion's courtyard, running for the mansion itself.

Trowa carefully took aim.

18:19 Hours --

Trowa sat down in the kitchen, nodding to the servant who brought him a plate of mutton over rice.

"Woah, where the hell're you going?" came a laughing, jesting voice from behind him.

"Out."

"Gonna need a ride?"

"No."

"Who're you planning to assassinate with that thing?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Trowa stared blankly at Xavier Johnson, who was gawking happily at the large rifle strapped to the Gundam pilot's back.

"We'll see."

22:35 Hours --

Trowa squeezed the trigger.

The figure of the mansion's attacker fell.

Racing down the hill, Trowa tore towards the downed body, pistol now in hand as he leapt over the short perimeter shrubs. With a summersault and a half dozen twists, he hurled himself over the twelve-foot tall chain-link fence that guarded the mansion grounds, and hefted his gun as soon as he landed.

Quickly, he took out all four soldiers that were already surrounding the downed person, shooting each cleanly through their skulls.

Running over, he laid a hand upon the shoulder of the person he'd seen fall.

"You alright?"

"FUCK! Blasted out my damned foot, you lousy motherless bitch!"

"You'll live, Duo."

_tbc..._


	18. Chapter XVIII

Review replies:

MikaSamu: Hey, I don't mind people being greedy and wanting more! I've always wanted to write more of this plot, but lack of enthusiasm on the part of those reading it almost killed it (I'm very happy I started posting on fanfiction . net, otherwise this probably wouldn't stand a chance of _ever_ being concluded). So thank _you_ for enjoying it! Here's another one!

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

12:27 Hours --

Sunlight oozed through the room, filtered mildly by the thin gauzy white drapes that cascaded from the rods running above the huge bay windows that dominated the west wall of the room. Illuminating off-white walls and gold trim, it scattered its prismatic rays across the room in varied rainbows as it passed through the beveled edges of the windowpanes. Every once in a while, the huge palm tree that rose to the south side of the window outside would shiver with the passing of a gust of wind, its huge fronds swaying and casting black shadows across the room, shading the golden lamps and heavily detailed Persian rugs before slowly bending back into position to allow the sun's light to fully bathe the room again.

Leaning back in one of the two plush chairs that occupied the room, encased in the warmth and comfort of overly stuffed off-white cushions and thick pillows, Trowa rested his arms upon the armrests as he turned his emerald gaze to the bed that dominated the room's center.

Ignoring the spiraling corner posts and the lacy scrollwork of the golden headboard and foot board, his eyes found their target - the small lump that laid in the center of the massive pile of off-white blankets, scrunched under their protective layers.

Duo Maxwell was sulking.

"It's not that cold, Duo."

"HA! The blankets are nice and cool. I'm comfy."

Moments of tense silence passed.

"I'm sorry."

"There ain't nothin' you can fucking say to me, Trowa. Not after blasting my damned foot out."

"It was a clean shot. The doctor already said that you should be fully recovered within half of a month. It's only a flesh wound, after all."

"Only a fucking flesh wound, he says."

"If I'd have used a higher caliber bullet, I may have taken your entire foot off."

"Fuck off."

Trowa simply shrugged, keeping his gaze on the sulking lump.

"Alright, alright…" the wavering voice came again from under its shelter of blankets, "I forgive ya."

"…."

"Shit! You were talking up a storm 'bout two minutes ago, and now you can't even say, "Thank you, Duo. How big of you." God damn it… whoever taught you common courtesy ought to be drug out into the street and shot."

Arching a brow, Trowa simply shrugged again.

"It really doesn't matter to me."

The blankets shuffled.

"Now, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Shoot."

"Where have you been?"

22:39 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa held his gun at ready, keeping his hand lightly resting upon the whimpering and squirming boy's shoulder.

"Stay down," Trowa softly hissed, his gaze darting from left to right, attempting to put together an escape route for himself and his injured companion before reinforcements came down upon them.

"Like I have a FUCKING choice! ARGH!" Duo rolled slightly, gripping his foot in his hand, pressing his thumbs against the wound to stave the slow flow of blood that oozed from it.

Trowa chose to ignore the braided pilot's wailing, noting his actions in the corner of his mind. 'At least he's sane enough to remember to apply pressure. That should keep him from passing out. Shock of pain will keep him awake. He won't be losing much more blood.'

Lights began to shine upon the hilltops he'd previously been stationed on.

'Reinforcements are coming. Damn.' "Can you stand?"

"DO YOU HAVE A GOD DAMNED BRAIN! NO!"

Frowning slightly, the taller boy hoisted his wounded companion over his shoulder, chose a direction, and ran.

12:40 Hours --

"Heh. Where have I been? Just sittin' on my ass in a shack 'bout twenty miles away from here."

"In the town to our west?"

"Yep."

"What were you doing there?"

"Being completely lost and not knowing which damned way to get back here! What the fuck do you think? That I was goin' to raves and partyin' my head off?"

Trowa shrugged.

"Who captured you?"

Duo huffed a sigh from under his blankets even as his hands snaked out from underneath to grip the top of the sheets. Slowly scooting them down the bed, the boy struggled into an upright position, his unbound hair cascading around his shoulders and pooling under the blankets. "That's the weird thing," he finally started, looking at Trowa with eyes glazed from the pain medication he was on.

"What?"

"I wasn't really captured."

Arching a brow, Trowa crossed his legs, waving for a servant's attention. "Keep going. Do you want some water?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. So anyway," he continued as Trowa sent the servant on her way, "it certainly fucking FELT like I was being captured at first, ya know? Suddenly there's this wonderful crack across the back of my skull and I've got little white starts floating before my eyes, then everything goes black and I'm feeling grass poking up my nose but can't fucking do anything about it. And so then everything just kinda fades away into this wonderful black curtain of nothingness that says, 'Hey, Duo! It's pleasant here! You know that pain in your skull? Well, it's gone! There's nothing here for you to feel! It's black!' You know what I'm sayin'."

With the slightest of amused smirks on his lips, Trowa nodded.

"So anyway, I open my eyes some time later and find myself in this crappy little mattress in the middle of this drafty-ass cabin. So I'm thinking, 'What the fuck!' and all of a sudden, that guy… what's his name… Chad. Chad Lesley. He comes marching into the room."

'Now we're getting somewhere…' "Mm hm."

"Yeah. So he looks at me, and says, "Well, glad I got you out of there in time." So I'm like, "What the hell? What do you mean? And what the fuck did you crack my skull for?" and he's just sayin', "You were targeted." So I just kinda looked at him. I mean, what was I supposed to think? Oh, yeah, I was targeted? There were even more jerk-off OZ soldiers with my name on their bullets that were running about looking for me than I'd previously suspected? That I'd been found in Quatre's haven out here? Shit. Thanks."

Trowa arched a brow, then noticed that, yes, Duo was turned on the bed, graciously smiling at the maid who delivered a huge glass of ice water to him. Turning his head to his left, he nodded to the other servant and took his own drink. Lifting it to his lips, he sipped it carefully.

"So anyway," Duo continued after wetting his throat, "he tells me all this shit about him and Xavier suspecting James Waverly the torturer all the while and thinking that his loyalties to Quatre were more than a little questionable. Which, frankly, I think ALL their fucking loyalties are more than a little questionable, but that's just me."

'I thoroughly agree. But go on,' Trowa's brain muttered as he sipped his water and nodded.

"So he says that he saw James dicking around with the television before you and Xavier and him went out to the garage. So he claims that while I was out waving goodbye, he checked the TV and found it bombed. Which I doubt, but hey…."

"It was rigged."

"It was?" Duo asked, his violet eyes widening slightly.

"Aa."

"Fuck. Anyone hurt?"

"Some servant. Blown to pieces."

"Damn…."

"But continue. Did he give you a reason for knocking you out instead of just telling you what was going on?"

"Yeah, he did. But it was really fucking lame. He told me that because I didn't trust him or any of them, that I would have just blown off his worries and suspicions and gotten myself killed in the process, or started to look at HIM suspiciously when he wasn't really the person after my life."

"Good excuse."

"Yeah, just really fucking lousy method."

"He had to get you out of the way."

"What, should I fucking be grateful or something?" Snorting, Duo hugged his blanket-covered legs, cradling his head upon his cushioned knees. "I had a god damned concussion. Can still kinda feel the headache."

Trowa simply nodded.

"And now a question for you, Trowa."

"Yeah?"

"Why the hell were they targeting me in the first place?"

22:47 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa nearly snarled in frustration. It was difficult maneuvering when toting a body.

He could feel the pressure of incoming mobile suits. He could feel them coming. He could sense the soldiers bringing up the pursuit. He could hear the roaring of vehicle engines.

'We're not going to make it out,' Trowa's brain surmised as he kept his stoic face, running for all he was worth with Duo now quite unconscious from all the jostling, the pain, and the blood that had rushed to his head.

Once more, he spotted headlights.

Cursing, Trowa brought his run to a halt, ready to throw down his weapon.

He resumed running, heading towards the Jeep, when he saw the figure in the driver seat wave towards him.

Jumping into the back of the vehicle, ungracefully depositing his fellow pilot onto the bench beside him, he glanced over his shoulder at Xavier.

"Drive."

"Way ahead of you! Hold on, buddy."

Trowa barely kept his balance as the vehicle bounced off down the road.

13:03 Hours --

"Why the hell were they targeting me in the first place?"

'Good question. Think, Trowa, think. There's a rational explanation for thi…'

Trowa's mental monologue drew to a complete halt as it brought up a memory clip from a few days past.

22:56 Hours, 5 Days Ago --

"Very true," Chad said, "but you forget that you're talking about what I call your most perfect strategist. His weapon is his intellect, Mr. Maxwell, and he has that in excess. He'll be able to compensate for any unexpected turns."

08:13 Hours, 7 Days Ago --

"You strategize using a Chess board?"

"Hai. And it usually works very well. Chess… it's very insightful. It replicates real life so very well… all the unpredictable pitfalls… all the plotting that's required to reach your goal…"

13:04 Hours --

"Of course," Trowa quietly muttered.

"Of course what?"

Trowa glanced up, partially surprised that he'd spoken those words out loud. Lowering his gaze again, he stared at his hands, a small frown playing on his lips as he let his shoulders relax.

"Have you ever played chess before, Duo?"

"Yeah, a couple of times. Sister… Sister Helen always made me play during the evenings on Sundays 'cause I would always refuse to serve as alter boy for the evening masses… I always told her that one mass on Sundays was more than a God I didn't revere needed from me." Laughing softly, his tone carrying bittersweet shadows to it, he closed his violet eyes and shook his head.

"Then tell me. The object of the game is obviously to maneuver the king into a position where his capture is inevitable. Accomplished through…?"

"Your pieces."

"How many pieces do you need to do this?"

"Um, bare minimum of two, I think."

Trowa nodded. "One piece can't do it on its own, right?"

"That's right," Duo said with a shrug, "but I still don't see where you're going."

"They've been trying to get rid of the pieces on the board. Isolate each piece, and you can capture it easily."

"Hmmmm… so you're suggesting that they're treating this entire dilemma like some defunct game, tryin' to kill every piece to keep us from capturing their King or something?"

"Precisely. King is mission completion. The data we need, and base destruction if desired."

"Makes sense," Duo muttered, scratching his chin."

Trowa nodded, then blinked.

"And now, because of their actions, the queen's alone on her own board."

'Quatre….'

_tbc..._


	19. Chapter XIX

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

19:19 Hours --

Trowa watched through narrowed eyes.

'Come on, make your move,' he mentally hissed as he stared at the television set, the grayscale images produced on the flickering screen caressing his eyes with their gentle light.

Trowa was seated in the small, hidden room that held the control center for the manor's security system. Currently he was glowering at the monitor that was relayed to the cameras stationed throughout the chess room, watching a lank and tall figure that wandered from board to board, observing each while scratching his chin.

'Come on, James. I know you're up to something. Now do something.'

James Waverly glanced around, as if looking for security cameras. With a satisfied, smug smirk the man took a bite of the sandwich he was carrying in his right hand, walked over to one selected board and reached out.

Trowa gulped, watching the older man's hand lightly caress the queen.

The professional torturer waited a moment before picking the piece up and shaking his head as he slipped it into his pocket.

'What the hell!'

James' hand hovered over the board for another moment, moving a few of the OZ pieces before placing an unidentified rook on the square the queen had previously occupied.

Trowa felt his hands clench upon the tabletop as he stared at the monitor.

James was smiling directly at the camera.

Walking directly towards the lens that was secreted away above the door, James Waverly stood on his tiptoes before the wooden barrier to the hallway. He reached up with a fingertip.

And he stuffed a piece of the sandwich he was gnawing on into the tiny niche that held the camera, completely blocking Trowa's view of the room.

Cursing, the green-eyed boy was on his feet in a moment.

'Woah, calm down!' Trowa's brain attempted to tell his body as he began to march towards the door to the security room, intent on pounding a certain OZ soldier to death with his bare hands.

'Think, Trowa. If you march over there now, he'll know for certain that you were observing his actions.'

'Meaning he might change his plans. That would completely dismiss all the work you've done thus far in attempting to figure out what he's up to.'

'That's right. So we calm down. Take a deep breath. Sit back down. See what Xavier's doing in the kitchen. That's monitor number nineteen.'

17:10 Hours --

Leaning back on the couch, Trowa watched as Duo randomly flicked through channels at what had to be comparable to the speed of light.

"How can you watch TV like this? It's giving me a headache," Xavier Johnson grumbled, reclining in one of the room's chairs.

Chad Lesley quietly chuckled, shaking his head.

The four men were in the living room, sitting uneasily in the recently cleaned and refurbished room. They were staring at a television set that while considerably smaller than the one that recently met its untimely demise in the actual mansion was still fairly huge to normal standards. By Trowa's calculations, the thing had to be a 52" screen.

Trowa turned in his seat, hearing footsteps approaching in the hallway.

"Pro'ly servants," Duo muttered, chewing on a stick of beef jerky.

"No."

"No?"

"Waverly."

The other three turned and set their eyes upon the newcomer as he stepped into the room.

Smirking, the OZ officer shoved his hands into his white pants' pockets, and nodded. "Well, nice to see all of you, too."

"What are you doing here?"

"Heh. Hello to you as well, Mr. Barton."

"Just answer the damned question," Duo softly snorted.

"Checking in, of course," James Waverly said with a grin.

"Hey, James! Step on in!" Xavier called with a smile.

Chad, meanwhile, was watching him with narrowed eyes.

Moments later, Trowa found himself in the uncomfortable position of having James seated between him and Duo upon the couch. The man had his boots on the coffee table before him, apparently lounging easily in the cushions of the furniture.

"Heh. This place looks pretty damned good for being blown up. And glad to see you're back in one piece, kiddo."

18:30 Hours --

Trowa glanced over at the other man as he rummaged through the refrigerator searching for something cold to drink. "Remember. Muslim household."

"Damn. Forgot about that," James snarled quietly as he selected instead a pitcher of blue liquid.

'Kool-aid?'

"Heh. Always was a fan of Kool-aid," James said with a grin as he poured himself a glass and replaced the pitcher in the fridge.

"If you have some time, James, I need to ask you a few questions."

The OZ soldier arched a brow, then shrugged. "Go for it. Don't know how I'm going to answer you, but go ahead and ask all you like."

"Fair enough," Trowa said with a shrug.

"So, what do you want to know?"

"You set up that bomb?"

"Nope."

Trowa arched a brow. 'That's what I expected. Denial. It's what everyone's been doing.'

"I just made it. It was actually meant for the Gundam in the hangar below."

'WHAT!'

17:22 Hours --

Duo and Trowa both stared with wide eyes at James, even as Chad and Xavier glowered through narrowed ones.

"How the fuck did you know about that?" Duo softly hissed, his huge violet eyes finally narrowing into dangerous, glimmering slits.

"Simple," James said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. "You don't think that news of the huge manor to the east going 'kaboom' doesn't make the barrack news? Besides, being as how I was in the Jeep when we got back, I got to see the whole damned thing. You were missing in the body count, so figured you skipped out for awhile."

"Hmph. Likely explanation," the braided pilot softly whispered.

'I agree, Duo,' Trowa silently thought.

Apparently, the two other OZ officials in the room, judging by the glowers that they were giving their 'comrade' shared that thought.

"So, what's been happening on the home front while I was away?"

"Nothing much," Xavier said with a shrug, leaning back into his chair with a sigh.

"Nothing besides watching this place being detonated, you mean? Cool. I'd hate to think that I'm missing out on anything interesting."

The five sat in silence, watching Duo's pace through the channels do nothing but increase.

'He's nervous. His hand is trembling. That's what's making his finger press so rapidly on the button.'

Frowning, Trowa rose from his seat and stepped across James' knees to stand before Duo. Lightly placing a hand on his fellow pilot's shoulder, he sighed. "Want to get something to eat?"

"Sure. Nothing on, anyway," Duo said with a quick grin, tossing the remote into Waverly's lap and nearly running out of the room with Trowa hot on his heels.

18:33 Hours --

"You have a lot of explaining to do," Trowa said as he lifted the spoon full of lentil soup to his lips and sipped.

Shrugging, James stretched in his seat. "I'll explain what I want to explain."

"How did you know…?"

"What? That there's a Gundam here?"

Trowa nodded silently.

"Simple. I'm privy to more than you think."

'I don't like that answer.' "Quatre told you?"

"Fuck no," James said with a laugh, shaking his head. "That little bastard's told me next to nothing. However, if you watch him closely enough, you can determine what his moves are gonna be."

'Oh really.'

James sipped his Kool-aid and smirked. "And you probably want to know why I targeted your buddy, right?"

Narrowing his eyes, Trowa nodded. 'He knows that Deathscythe is Duo's, hm? Doesn't suspect that it's mine or Quatre's… how much does this guy know?'

"It's simple. Because of either of you, he's more liable to just fly in and blow shit up, thinking that'll solve everything. At last you have a shred of logic. Of anyone to be stopped to preserve what we've been working towards, it's him. And the easiest way to stop him from fucking blowing everything to hell is to rig the cockpit so he blows his own ass off when he sits down in his mobile suit."

"And the television?"

"Johnson's too fucking brainless to try anything like that. I'm suspecting Lesley."

"Lesley was suspecting you. So was Johnson."

"Well, one man's words against the others. What the fuck're you going to do about it, Barton?"

Trowa sighed softly. "Determine which of you is more trustworthy."

"Heh," James said with a laugh. "Good luck. If I were you, I wouldn't trust any of us."

Trowa nodded.

"Of course, that doesn't mean that none of us are trustworthy. If none of us were, Quatre wouldn't entrust us with dealing with you people."

"Speaking of Quatre…"

"He's fine."

Trowa arched a brow.

"That's what you're so worried about, isn't it, Barton? Swear, you're as easy to read as a book."

Letting his eyes slowly drift closed, Trowa soaked in his words for a few minutes. 'Easy to read as a book, hm? Most people don't find it that simple.'

"But as I was saying, you don't have to worry about him too much. Ol' Channok finds him too entertaining to dispose of him. Yeah, he's bein' kept on a short leash, but that doesn't mean that he's still not carrying through with operations."

"Finds him too amusing?"

"Hell yeah. It's not every day you come across a person like dear li'l Quatre, you know."

"Meaning?"

James huffed, his eyes rolling. "Don't you know why Quatre targets the people he does?"

"Their connections."

"If that were it, then he would have never tried for Browens."

Trowa blinked.

Continuing, James grinned, his smile vicious. "Because they've got certain preferences. Young and male."

'Quatre…'

"Easily manipulated…"

'Quatre wouldn't…'

"With high up connections."

'Who're you kidding, Trowa? Of course he would.'

"So he's quite safe, as long as he keeps performing to Channok's expectations."

"So how do we get him out?"

James laughed into his glass. "We DON'T, Barton. We just don't. Attempting to break him outta there'll do nothing more than completely fuck up EVERYTHING we've been working towards. And if we do that now, it won't just cost us the mission. It'll cost us our lives."

19:41 Hours --

Trowa leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes to block out the glaring light that flowed from the monitors.

James had done nothing more than put the remains of his sandwich into the fridge and return to his bedroom.

'At least now I know what's going on here,' Trowa thought as he rose from his seat and exited the room. Turning and locking the door, he selected a direction and shuffled quietly down the hallway.

'None of those men are trustworthy. As far as I can tell, they're each after their own objectives, all which probably involve our deaths.'

'Leaving them alive for now is the best option. I don't know what kind of contacts they have, or what they're planning.'

'Though with the amount of knowledge that they have about us, it'd probably be best to just kill them.'

Rubbing his forehead, Trowa lightly tapped the keypad outside of the chess room and stepped inside as he heard the whirring and clicking of gears within. 'Good thing I set up a password. It'd be a pain in the ass to disable that box every time I needed this.'

Sitting down at the suspended desk that supported the chandelier, Trowa cracked his knuckles and booted up the computer.

Quickly flicking through the login sequence, he flipped to the word document that carried his instructions. It had carried the message last time he'd booted it that told him that it would be updated periodically from remote access terminals. Meaning of course that Quatre would be hacking into his own system to feed him information. Scanning the file, he reached the newest update at the end, and quickly began to read the wane lines.

"Leave me here. Coming now will not only endanger your lives, but also end mine. I will send a message when the time is right for an escape attempt."

Trowa narrowed his eyes.

"Watch yourself, and watch out for Duo. You have a traitor in your midst."

'I know that. Just which one of those men is the question.'

"Maybe letting Duo in on what you know will enhance your chances of weathering this."

'Not a bad idea.'

"Please be careful."

'I always am.'

"I love you."

Trowa felt his eyes widen as he stared at the screen. Glancing back over it, he rubbed his eyes, making certain he wasn't seeing things.

The message on the screen didn't change.

"I love you."

_tbc..._


	20. Chapter XX

Review replies:

MikaSamu: Thank you very much for your glowing review! Keeping the main characters IC is a task I take to heart, and I'm happy that people are recognizing that effort. And thank you for your compliment on my original characters – sometimes making OCs something more than cannon fodder can be tough. (little laugh) How's about another couple of chapters? (rings gong)

YiyangYoung: Glad you're still enjoying this! Yeah, I'd just come off watching Goldeneye (Q!) when I can up with the chandelier idea. But for this fic it seemed incredibly adequate and not too out there. (grin) As for who's targeting Duo, that'll be answered later… (insane cackle (hey, you said that's alright!))

fruits of Eos: Ah, you remember this one, eh? Then you'd be happy to know that the reviewers here have managed to revive this plot from the grave – I've actually got the motivation to write again. Makes me happy to be playing with my spies and my plots again. (smile)

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

20:50 Hours, Yesterday --

"So," the braided boy said in between spoons of food, "they're basically all conspiring against each other."

"Aa." Nodding, Trowa looked at his own plate of food. For some reason, he didn't have much of an appetite. Even though he'd yet to have eaten since the noon hour, he couldn't look at his food as being anything flavorful or desirable. His stomach even agreed with him, murmuring acidly every time he considered taking a fork full of curry and rice and shoving it into his mouth.

Duo chewed, swallowed, and waved his fork in Trowa's direction. "So let me get this straight. Those three OZ soldiers are probably all against us, yet they're against one another. That's the only thing that's keeping our asses out of the fire right now."

"Correct."

"And Quatre's running amuck at this guy Channok's place, trying to pump information out of the guy concerning something called the Romefeller Foundation."

"Aa."

"And Quatre's probably in considerable danger."

Trowa's silence was the only answer Duo needed.

"And we aren't going in after him because he said it would only succeed in further endangering his life?"

Trowa nodded mutely.

"Fuck."

'I fully agree, Duo. I'm just as frustrated as you are.'

"Well, I don't know about you, but I ain't sittin' by for this."

"Duo, we can't…"

"Can't fucking make a move? Bullshit. There's always a move that can be made, right?"

"If we make any moves, we'd be endangering Quatre. Not just the mission. Remember that."

"I know, I know. So that means that breaking him out'll just bring heat down on us. And we don't need anymore heat, considering how deep of a vat of shit we're already in."

"Yep."

"What do you think I'm suggesting? Infiltrating? Sending spies?"

Trowa arched a brow. "Aren't you?"

"Nope. Dude…" Sighing, rubbing his head, Duo focused one violet eye on his companion. "Think about it. The reason his life is endangered is…?"

"They already know he's a spy."

"Right. So they've got security on his like fucking nuts, probably. And if he does anything to escape or report, he's gonna be fucking blown away, no matter how much this Channok guy likes him. Right?"

Trowa nodded again.

"So we can't go in and get him. That'll blow whatever remnants of cover he has left completely away, and let them know that not only has he been in contact with us, but that he's probably given us information that we just haven't found yet or something. But that doesn't mean that we just gotta sit on our asses waiting for Quatre's go ahead."

"Oh?"

"Why don't we tap their security grid? Watch what's going on ourselves? It would give us a better working knowledge of what the fuck's going on, and alleviate some of our worries 'bout the little guy."

Trowa stared blankly.

'He just came up with…. I was just out-performed by…. I can't believe this.'

Smirking, Duo tapped his forehead with a slim index finger. "There IS something up here, you know."

"Only problem is getting into their computer system over the remote connection. They've got plenty of firewalls up against anyone coming in on an outside line. Their security is very tight. I failed breaking into the system at the OZ base we detonated. Quatre disabled that one. How do you expect us to get into a Romefeller Archive?"

Duo stretched his lanky body, folding his hands over his head and groaning as his back popped a few times. "Directly interfacing with it. Plugging the damned thing into a phone line. Bypassing their firewalls at the source. Basically, going and pulling the fucking plug. Their system goes down, they start doing a quick reboot, right?"

Trowa nodded.

"So, before they get to that point, you just switch plugs from a direct terminal to a phone line. We get remote access, and have just bypassed security provided you log on before they reinstall their security profiles."

'Makes sense. However…' "This does require someone to be on the premises for this to be done."

"I know that."

"I'm a hot target."

"Yep."

"The others…"

"Ain't going. I'm doing it."

"You?"

"Yep."

Trowa frowned. "But what about your foot?"

Grinning maniacally, Duo chuckled. "As you said, it's just a flesh wound. It's bandaged so fucking much that I can barely feel it. No big pain in my ass. I can function with it."

"Really."

"First lesson they taught me was how to ignore pain," Duo quietly stated, nodding, his face suddenly serious. "I'm just as capable as the rest of you. Don't worry. It's my buddy in danger. I'm not letting anything stop me from ensuring his safety, even if it places my own person at risk."

09:16 Hours --

Trowa sighed quietly as he clicked the mouse again, changing images.

Duo's little plan had worked like a charm.

He was on the security grid.

Seated in Quatre's high-backed black leather chair in the Winner heir's office, sunlight streaming into the room through the huge panes of beveled glass behind him, Trowa lounged in comfort as he peered at the static-ridden and fuzzy images played out before his eyes by the cameras that were connected to the OZ mansion's server. From his position, he had access to nearly everything, and was fully exploiting it.

However, the files he instinctively felt Quatre was after were privately archived and password-protected. Committee logs, mission statements, meeting minutes.

'Those are what he's after. And he's probably seen them, but is in the same situation I'm in. Look, but can't touch. How very frustrating.'

His eyes narrowed, he was skimming through the information he could access, absorbing as much of it as possible.

'Hm. OZ's operations in space are only partially sanctioned, eh? Interesting.'

'And information on that Treize Khushrenada fellow. If that Chinese pilot were here, he'd be jumping down my throat for this, neh?'

Flick went the screens.

'Communications monitoring? Interesting. Password protected? Can my little program handle it?'

Clicking on his Codebreaker 3001 icon on the desktop, he waited for the inevitable success or fail message. 'Hope this isn't like those other archives, with fifteen plus digit passwords.'

"Success."

'Fabulous.'

Tapping in, he arched a brow as he was presented with a line of frequencies and phone line numbers that were flashing if activated.

'Very interesting.'

Selecting one, he clicked on it.

Immediately, a hot and steamy conversation between a soldier and his spouse who apparently hadn't seen one another in months spilled over the computer's speakers.

Simply arching a brow, Trowa flicked that one off and selected another.

21:40 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa was calmly pointing the layout of the mansion out to Duo, tracing along the map he'd drawn with a slender index finger.

"So right 'bout here is where you suspect it is, eh?"

"Aa."

"Actually, Duo, the computer server is here."

"AUGH! Damn, man, don't sneak up on us like that!"

Trowa was also trying to quell his pounding heartbeat, though without the same commotion that Duo resorted to. His eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at Xavier Johnson, who was smirking, leaning over the map, pointing over Duo's shoulder.

"So, what are you two planning?" the OZ officer questioned, his smile cheerful and friendly.

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," Trowa said quietly, shrugging as if without care.

"Yep. Just two friends conspiring together. Nothin' you need to stick your nose into."

"I'm not feeling trust here for some reason," Xavier said with a sigh.

"Gee, you fuckin' think?"

Trowa had to fight his face to keep from smirking. 'The Deathscythe pilot sure is entertaining.'

17:33 Hours, Yesterday --

The five sat in silence, watching Duo's pace through the channels do nothing but increase.

'He's nervous. His hand is trembling. That's what's making his finger press so rapidly on the button.'

Frowning, Trowa rose from his seat and stepped across James' knees to stand before Duo. Lightly placing a hand on his fellow pilot's shoulder, he sighed. "Want to get something to eat?"

"Sure. Nothing on, anyway," Duo said with a quick grin, tossing the remote into Waverly's lap and nearly running out of the room with Trowa hot on his heels.

As soon as they were safely in the dining room, Duo nearly collapsed into the nearest chair by the table that he could reach. "Fuck…"

"What's wrong?" questioned Trowa, his eyes carrying the slightest hint of concern in their emerald depths.

"I… just… shit. I don't trust any of them. It's like sitting in a room filled with fucking vultures ready to pick the flesh off your bones…"

Trowa nodded, frowning himself. He'd gotten that same feeling.

"Plus not to mention that one of those mother fuckers is the guy that was gonna blast me to smithereens."

Trowa's eyes widened. 'That's right. No WONDER he's nervous. Especially with Waverly speaking so casually about the explosion that was meant for Duo. About Duo not being in the 'body count.''

"I just wanna blow the bitches to Hell." Snorting, Duo plopped back in his chair and punched his fist sharply down onto the table top, making the candlesticks that were upon it shiver and topple over.

09:31 Hours --

Trowa decided to click the button as it flashed, indicating that the line was active.

Instantly, his eyes widened as he read the information displayed concerning the call upon his screen.

'Going from Base: A19-043 to Unk: 2/394/399/8257? That's…'

He listen to the ringing of the phone as it was projected over the computer's speakers.

'That's here! That's one of the private bedroom lines, isn't it?'

The line picked up immediately.

Narrowing his eyes, Trowa carefully listened.

"Yo. James."

"James, listen."

Trowa's pounding heart came nearly to a stop. 'Quatre!'

"Am doing."

"I don't have much time, so better have a pen and paper ready."

"Got'cha, kid," James' voice cracked over the flimsy speakers.

"Move the rook from D5 to G5. I think you can figure out the strategy from there."

Trowa listened as James Waverly gulped quietly. "I… understand."

"I'm sorry, James," Quatre's voice quietly sighed.

"I understand. They're on to me?"

"Yeah…."

A long pause dominated the line for a moment.

"I'm sorry…" Quatre's voice whispered.

"Hell, don't worry 'bout it, kid. I knew the price when I started."

"James…"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

"Sure thing."

Click.

Trowa listened to the dial tone.

_tbc..._


	21. Chapter XXI

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

22:02 Hours --

Trowa held his breath as yet another soldier walked below him.

Shifting his position slightly, attempting to hide himself further in the shadows that permeated the small area he was crammed in, he concentrated on getting his left leg to wake back up. It had fallen asleep from the strain of being held in the same folded position for the last fifteen minutes.

Glancing over, the Heavy Arms pilot studied his companion.

He had to commend Duo. He, at least, didn't look a bit uncomfortable.

Indeed, the Deathscythe pilot was balanced precariously upon the pipe just as Trowa was, not using the wall behind them for balance, staring at the activities below with bright, wide, attentive eyes.

After the soldier below had passed, Duo nodded to Trowa before hopping silently out of the rafters they were secreted in, landing noiselessly on the ground.

After making certain that Duo was down safely, Trowa launched himself off the pipe, twisting gracefully in the air before landing silently next to the other boy, his bangs flopping over his face as he stood.

"Show off," Duo whispered before dashing into a corner.

Trowa smirked as he followed the black-clad youth, diving into the shadows just in time to avoid detection by the roving security camera's lens.

18:15 Hours --

Trowa looked warily at the chunk of mutton that was hanging off his fork. Everything else he'd eaten at the estate had been spiced to the point of burning his tongue and forming blisters in his mouth, so understandably he was more than a little wary of this newest offering served to him upon the fine china dishes.

Xavier, of course, was no help. That man apparently had a mouth of iron, able to withstand everything and anything that any cook could whip up.

"It's good, Trowa! You should give it a try!" he said between mouthfuls.

Duo was Trowa's object of attention. The boy's reaction would be his deciding factor in whether he ate or he starved for the night.

Duo popped a piece of the cooked meat into his mouth and chewed, one eyebrow arched over a violet orb. "Hey, not bad!" he said before he began to shovel as if rabid ravens were after his dinner.

Trowa nodded, carefully placing his precisely cut piece of mutton between his lips and chewing. 'Hm! Tasty. Better than Cathy's cooking, for certain.'

'Poor Heero.'

Trowa suppressed a laugh, remembering the Wing pilot's first reaction to Catherine's valiant attempt at meatloaf.

Turning his eyes to the empty spot at the table, Trowa mentally sighed.

James Waverly, seemingly their only comrade in this war of unscrupulous undermining of supposed allies and deceptive ploys, had left their company nearly seven hours ago.

That left them alone with Chad Lesley and Xavier Johnson, neither of which Trowa placed much credence in.

"Neh, Trowa," Duo's voice suddenly said, shattering the emerald-eyed boy's sphere of solitude, "need to ask you a few things after dinner, alright?"

"Sure thing. What about?"

"Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance."

Arching a brow, Trowa shrugged. 'Meaning he doesn't want to tell me with the other two in the room.'

Duo winked at him. "How's about my room?"

"No problem."

Trowa nodded. 'Motorcycle maintenance. He wants to meet in the garage.'

10:00 Hours --

"You're walking right into their hands."

"I'm very aware of that, Mr. Barton," James Waverly snarled as he pulled his uniform jacket into place and began to button it. "You know, for some damned reason I really don't feel like wearing this stupid thing."

Trowa arched a brow as the older man threw his coat off and shrugged on a denim jacket instead.

"By the way, Barton," the man started again, glancing over, "you'll want to be ready tonight. If I'm walking into Hell, that means that Quatre's gonna want to get the hell outta Dodge before they turn their eyes on him."

Trowa nodded.

"OZ got our conversation. No doubts about that. You weren't the only one monitoring the phone lines."

"You knew I tapped in?"

"Of course. As I said before, Barton, you're as easy to read as a book."

Crossing his arms, Trowa watched the other man.

"Besides, knowing you, you'll go in anyway, 'cause your pooky's in danger."

"What?"

"You DO know that things are getting hotter than the fires of hell 'round that damned mansion. Especially if they've got me. It means they've been keeping their eyes out for odd or mysterious behaviors and activities."

"Quatre's an obvious target."

"Duh. He's the most blatantly obvious intruder that they have in their midst, and I wouldn't doubt that everyone there knows it. Maybe Channok's too fucking blinded by lust, subliminal implanted suggestion and work to notice, but that doesn't mean that everyone else isn't thoroughly suspicious of the kid. He's good, but his control isn't THAT spectacular. Maybe when he grows up, he'll be a huge force to be reckoned with in that respect. But he isn't right now. And that's what 's going to get him killed."

Trowa looked at the ground as what the OZ soldier said slowly sank into his heart. "However, Quatre has yet to send word. This could simply be another attempt to set me up for capture."

"Heh, smart kid." Shaking his head, James shed his denim jacket, deciding on an overcoat this time. Pulling the long trench coat into place, he nodded at his image in the mirror before diving into his walk in closet once more. "Sorry 'bout that. It wasn't intentional on my part. I could have sworn that you could've pulled it off."

"Really." Trowa snorted softly.

"Yeah, really. How the fuck was I supposed to know that someone'd be tipped off inside the facilities?"

"You mean you suspect Johnson?"

"As much as I suspect that my Granny's been dead five years this October."

Trowa nodded.

"And as much as I suspect that you're not Trowa Barton. But that doesn't really matter to me right now. All I frankly care about is my own damned hide, which is about to be forfeited by your little lover."

Choking on the breath he'd drawn, the Gundam pilot stared into the closet at the rummaging form of James Waverly.

'He knows…?'

"And now, let me simply say this. If you follow me, you do so only for Quatre. And you leave tonight, when you won't be caught so easily. Use that braided twerp. He can probably get you in easy. You follow me for curiosity's sake, don't follow my orders and try to either rescue me or give me completely away, I introduce you to my buddy here, first hand. And don't think that I won't take any pleasure in blowing your banged head right off your shoulders. I live for that kind of thing."

Simply nodding, Trowa looked down the barrel of the Ingram M-11 that was thrust into his face. "Understood."

"Good."

12:21 Hours --

Trowa scratched his chin as he looked at the chessboard he'd seen Waverly previously adjust.

09:32 Hours --

"I don't have much time, so better have a pen and paper ready."

"Got'cha, kid," James' voice cracked over the flimsy speakers.

"Move the rook from D5 to G5. I think you can figure out the strategy from there."

Trowa listened as James Waverly gulped quietly. "I… understand."

"I'm sorry, James," Quatre's voice quietly sighed.

"I understand. They're on to me?"

"Yeah…."

12:22 Hours --

Trowa sighed quietly.

'That rook's toast. No way around it. There's no defensive way to escape capture from at least three pieces in that position. However…'

Walking over to the board to his left, he stared at the configuration.

'That move does take pressure off the newly introduced Queen.'

10:19 Hours --

Trowa frowned, following James into the chess room.

"See these boards, Barton? Know what they're used for?"

"Quatre uses them to strategize."

"Correct. So, what do you suspect he's doing?"

Trowa sighed, shaking his head. "I've been trying to figure that out for the last few days. I've yet to make any headway."

"You're looking at each board individually, aren't you?"

Trowa arched a brow, looking with curiosity at the older man.

Groaning, James rolled his eyes. "Moron. You fell for it."

"Fell for it?"

"He's hiding his true strategy right before your eyes. And you fucking fell for the simple little ploy he used to cover it up. Fuck. Well, at least that gives me some comfort. If you don't see it, that means that Chad the mime and Xavier the idiot have yet to see it, either."

"Show me what you're talking about."

"Alright, fine," James quietly sighed, taking him to one of the boards. "See this queen?"

'That's the queen that used to be on the board on the right! Why did he move it here?' Trowa nodded as he silently mused.

"Do you see anything threatening this queen?"

"No. It seems completely unguarded."

"It's not. In fact, it's about to be captured."

"Where do you see that move?"

"Over here." Grabbing Trowa's arm, he dragged him to the board on the right, which sported the rook James had placed when Trowa had been monitoring the room earlier.

Trowa's eyes widened. "The bishop can capture the queen, as can the rook and that knight, if you were…"

"Connecting the boards."

With a smirk, James shrugged. "That kid uses chess to strategize, right? Well, think about it this way, Trowa. No bit of life is so simple that you can set it on sixty-four squares. However, with two hundred and fifty-six different squares and endless patterns thanks to the sixty-four square neutral ground over yonder, anything can happen. THIS is what mimics life so perfectly, Trowa. This is what he uses to plan his moves, his life, his strategies, and win."

12:24 Hours --

Trowa sighed, shaking his head.

He recognized this strategy as well.

Quatre did seem to take quite a liking to sacrificing his more powerful pieces, keeping those unexpected to be played into power later in the game. If one piece could save five, so be it.

He played the game of odds.

He was sacrificing one piece to save the rest.

18:44 Hours --

Duo joined Trowa underneath the Mercedes S-class that was parked near the workbench in the garage.

"Yo," Duo greeted, grunting as he hefted himself fully under the small sports car.

"Were you followed?"

"Hell no, but I did snatch a glimpse of Chad heading towards the stairs to the bedrooms after I doubled back along the rafters. Think he's going to try and listen in at my room. No worries, though. I turned on my stereo really loud to attempt and psyche him out. Ya know, make him think we were in there discussing vital plots and shit."

"Good plan. So, what did you want to talk about?"

"We're going in, aren't we? Into that OZ stronghold, that is."

"Yes."

"Pullin' Quatre out?"

Trowa closed his eyes. "If we can find him."

"No worries, Trowa. We'll find him. But what's with this sudden change in plans? I thought the entire endangering bit had you off this kick."

"He sent word when Waverly was captured."

"Ah, I see, I see. So that guy DID turn himself in…"

"Yep."

"Was he the one tryin' to kill me?"

Trowa glanced over. 'Waverly was intent on removing Duo from the playing field, but wasn't the one to plant the bomb. Or so he said.'

"No. It was someone else."

"Crap!" Duo hissed, turning his glower to the exhaust manifold right above his head. "Meaning that whoever the fuck it is that was trying to screw us over is still among us, right?"

"Yep."

"Oh, gee, the one word bandit strikes again."

"Duo…"

"Quiet?"

"No. Get to your point."

"Fine, fine. My point is that we're going in after Quatre. We should discuss a plan."

"No Gundams."

"Well, duh. Gundams would draw gunfire down on his little blond head. They'll suspect that he called us in. Nope, I realize we're gonna hafta be all sneaky like."

"I don't' think that infiltration will work."

"What? No soldiers there with braids past their asses?"

Trowa chuckled, shaking his head.

"Holy mother of fuck, you've just about made me a prayin' man again, Trowa! There must be a God! He laughs!"

"Shut up."

22:11 Hours --

So there they were, creeping through the shadows.

'All sneaky like, as Duo would put it. Must congratulate him, though. He's more skilled at this than I suspected he would be.'

Duo lightly pressed against his chest, shoving him against the wall. "Camera," he hissed quietly.

Trowa nodded, remaining still.

After a few tense minutes, Duo stepped into the hallway again, tugging his black cap over his head. "Tell you what. This place is pretty fucking huge, so why don't we split up?"

"Not a bad idea."

"At that hallway ahead, you take left. I'll take right. Avoid the fucking cameras, avoid the damned guards."

"Of course."

"If you hear explosives, that means that all hell's broken loose."

Trowa arched a brow. 'If that manic grin is telling me anything, it's that Duo's going to be the one to START whatever altercations are going to happen.'

"Good luck, man."

"Good luck to you, too."

With that, they separated.

_tbc..._


	22. Chapter XXII

(wipes brow) Whew. Really got a lot of editing and fixes done this weekend. (grins, lobbing a third (hopefully) completely fixed and revised chapter out)

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

00:09 Hours --

"You're sure this is the right one?" Duo whispered softly as they slowly sneaked through the dark basement-turned-dungeon.

"Aa."

"How do you know?" Trowa quietly questioned, stepping over a grouping of cords, making certain to snap them before either of his two companions could step into the sites of the security camera's roving eye.

"I… I can feel it."

Duo and Trowa looked at one another, shrugged, and followed the blond boy to the cell he'd stopped before.

23:17 Hours, Yesterday--

It had taken over an hour, but Trowa had finally reached the door he'd last heard Quatre behind when he'd masqueraded as an OZ soldier. Laying his hand upon the oak panel, he pressed his ear to it and attempted to listen. Hearing nothing overly loud or seeming significant, he tried the doorknob.

'Locked. Of course.'

Glancing around, Trowa made certain that the cameras that faced the door weren't functioning any longer. He'd already been cutting wires as he'd traversed his old patrol route. However, checking over his work a second time was never a bad idea.

'And there shouldn't be any guards around here right now. They've probably all been summoned to the other end of the mansion, thanks to Duo.'

Trowa felt himself smile.

'I wonder if he planned it that way. If perhaps he knew where Quatre was, sent me after him, and decided to draw all the fire himself.'

'If that's the case, I must thank him once we make it out of here.'

Digging in his back jeans pocket, he fished out a pair of lock-picks and started working on the barrier between himself and the bedroom, chewing on his tongue as he concentrated on maneuvering the tiny shards of metal within the complicated knob. Reaching up with one hand he swept his bangs out of his eyes then returned to the lock.

He suddenly stopped.

He'd heard noise on the other side of the door.

Pressing his ear to it once more he listened carefully, attempting to determine if he'd been caught or not.

He heard deep, lusty moaning and the banging of a headboard against a wall.

Feeling his cheeks begin to burn, Trowa continued his work on the door.

22:42 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa was more than a little shocked.

Here it was, half an hour after he'd separated from Duo, and he'd yet to hear the explosions he'd been expecting.

'Maybe he's actually behaving himself.'

The rocketing reverberation of a bomb detonating somewhere down the hallway behind him resounded in his ears.

'Scratch that thought.'

Trowa barely made it to a dark corner to hide in time as soldiers flew down the hallway, running in the opposite direction he was headed, screaming at each other to hurry their rears up and get the intruder before he escaped.

23:21 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa listened with a satisfied smile as the doorknob clicked its confirmation that he had indeed succeeded in undoing the locking mechanism inside.

Carefully turning the knob he slowly opened the door, keeping his moves precise and snail-paced to prevent the door from squeaking or creaking. Slipping in, he carefully shut it behind him letting it fall back into place without a single click.

After entering the room Trowa quickly slid against the wall, making his way into the open closet, ducking amongst the clothing to watch what was happening from the safety of obscurity.

His eyes nearly burned with rage as he watched the writhing mass under the blankets.

Suddenly a dark-haired head burst free of the covers, gasping loudly as if for air before turning its steely gaze back upon whatever was below it. The head began to duck back down, lips pursed to deliver a kiss.

That kiss was never delivered.

Trowa lowered his SIG P229 Sport, his narrowed eyes shining with smug satisfaction as the larger form that carried the head he'd just shot with his .357 slug fall back onto the bed with a heavy thud, blood spraying from the perfect shot which had ruptured the artery that fed the brain and soaking the pillows and covers that surrounded it.

Marching out of the closet, he approached the bed. Gripping the covers, he whipped them back and peered.

There was a small pale-skinned body lying below the other man.

That was completely nude.

And that was glaring coldly at him.

"Think you could allow me the chance to get decent before marching out of the closet to say hi? Or do you really WANT a peep show, Trowa?"

"Gomen!"

"Just turn around. Let me out from under this guy and get something on."

"H… hai."

Flushed red to the point of being comparable to a tomato the taller pilot turned his back to the scene, listening as Quatre crawled out of the bed and hissed.

"Great. Blood. Think I have time for a shower?"

"Um… yeah. Quick one."

"Join me?"

Trowa promptly staggered, catching himself before his forehead made its way any closer to the plush carpeted floor that it desired to meet, warding off the ensuing curtain of blackness that hovered before him calling his name with a few rapid blinks of his eyes.

"I'll take that as a 'not this time, Quatre,'" the boy said with a light laugh.

Trowa was still standing, rigid and unmoving, as the other boy's feet padded lightly across the room and another door opened and closed.

23:33 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa was still standing in the same place as he heard that same door that had opened and closed earlier do so again.

"You can turn around, Trowa. Or are you content to stare at the wall all night? I would really like to talk to your face rather than your back when I discuss with you just how we're going to get out of here."

"Oh… right." Turning, Trowa nodded.

And, as his eyes settled their gaze upon the shorter pilot, his mouth fell open entirely of its own accord.

Quatre simply arched a brow as Trowa continued to stare, putting the majority of his weight upon one leg and resting his right hand upon his hip, leaving his left hand alone holding the jacket he most likely intended to complete his ensemble. Tilting his head slightly, he let his eyes slowly drift closed until they were nothing but solid blue, narrow seas dominating his almost ghostly pale face. "What?"

Trowa couldn't respond. He was too busy staring.

The boy was clad in…

Vinyl.

Entirely clad in vinyl.

Clad in vinyl that glistened with wetness from the consolidated steam that had gathered upon it in the bathroom.

A tight red vinyl halter top with a silvery zipper complete with a large steel ring to draw it up and down covered his chest, starting in mid-neck and halting its downward crawl along his body inches above his navel, leaving the vicious belly-wound that was finally beginning to heal exposed. Partially zipped down and scrunched to hug the base of his neck, the top also allowed a wonderful view of the studded dog collar that looped around the boy's thin neck.

Indecently tight black vinyl pants encased the Gundam pilot's legs, hugging along his hips, held in place by a metal-studded black belt. Lacing rather than a zipper closed the front, and zippers ran enticingly up both of his legs, starting at the belt and stopping somewhere that was hidden in the boy's tall shiny black combat boots that were laced with buckles and zippers themselves.

Quatre tossed his jacket on. The black vinyl article clung to his arms like a second skin, yet was draping loosely over his thin torso. Gripping the bottom of it, he zipped it up halfway, obscuring the view of his abdomen from prying eyes, leaving the barest glimpse of pale flesh visible on occasion.

Shaking his head, flinging his still wet and dripping bangs back, the boy arched a brow at his companion. "Trowa…?"

Trowa stared as a drop of water slowly snaked its way down the red top only to vanish below the black jacket.

"Trowa…"

He watched as the dewy drops of moisture that were scattered about the black pants slowly dripped, called to run the length of the blond boy's shapely legs by gravity.

"You're drooling, Trowa."

Slurp.

23:36 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa nodded slowly at what Quatre was saying.

"As said, biggest problem is going to be getting Duo out of the heat he's thrown himself into. Especially if he IS drawing fire, like you suspect he is."

Raising his gaze, Trowa sighed. "But what about your infiltration? Is this portion of your plan completely destroyed?"

"Not entirely," Quatre said with a sigh. "I got nearly everything I need. What I didn't fetch I'll have to retrieve at a later time, when things calm down. A good deal of that information that has already been retrieved has already been sent to my computer. Which reminds me that we're going to have to disconnect the mainframe once we get back home. Don't want OZ to be able to back-hack into my files."

"Got'cha."

"However, there IS one loose end to wrap up before we leave here."

"Which is?"

Quatre sighed quietly, his dark eyes ridden with some undeterminable emotion as he stared at the floor. "Waverly."

"We're going to eliminate him, aren't we?"

"I… don't know. I'll decide that when we reach him."

Trowa simply nodded.

"Well, may as well be on our way."

"You going to carry a weapon? I've only got nine shots left."

"Yeah, hold on a moment."

Trowa watched as Quatre ducked into the closet, then attempted to resist the urge to whistle as the boy reemerged.

There was something about Quatre with his titanium Desert Eagle Magnum holstered at his right hip and a Bushmaster XM15 V Match rifle strapped to his back that was incredibly appealing to him.

Smirking, the blond boy nodded. "Let's go, Trowa."

"Aa."

Trowa followed like an obedient puppy as the gun-toting vinyl-clad boy marched into the hallway.

00:10 Hours --

Duo had the door opened in no time flat.

"Heh. You'd think these OZ guys would use higher quality locks," the boy said as he slipped his bobby pin back into his hair.

Trowa simply stared at the braided pilot. 'How much does he have crammed into that braid? He's already revealed three small bombs, a bobby pin, and a sheathed throwing dagger…'

"Thanks, Duo," Quatre said, completely snapping Trowa out of his reverie. Stepping forward, the blond boy pushed the door open, cringing slightly as it creaked.

Light spilled across the bound figure that sat in the plain concrete cell.

Lifting dark hazel eyes, the man smirked. "You finally arrived, eh? Nice outfit, Quatre."

The blond boy blushed. "It was the most conservative thing I could find in a hurry."

Trowa bit lightly on his tongue to keep himself from commenting, even as Duo just let his eyes widen and shook his head, completely stunned at the proclamation. "If that's the most conservative thing he could find, I'd hate to see what the REST of his wardrobe looks like," Duo muttered softly under his breath. Trowa nodded his agreement.

"Alright. So. Going to end it, kid?" Lifting his gaze, his eyes steely and smug with pride, the man smiled grimly. "I'm waiting."

Quatre looked him over, his eyes brimming with sadness. "I…."

"Heh. C'mon. They may actually get me to talk, seein' as how they're using my own fucking techniques on me. Lousy bastards."

"I won't."

Everyone stared.

23:52 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa ran after Quatre, his gun cocked and ready before him as they raced through the hallways.

Rounding a corner, he lowered his gun's barrel and rapidly opened fire.

Six guards fell, spurting blood, as his gun clicked. "I'm out, Quatre!"

Nodding, the smaller boy quickly swung his rifle into his hands off his shoulder and braced it. Pulling the trigger, he stepped back as the kick of the weapon slammed into his arm, temporarily setting him off balance.

The final remaining guard's head exploded in a spray of blood, bone and gray matter.

Shouldering his gun again, Quatre hissed, "Let's go! He's not that far!"

Nodding, Trowa joined the other boy in the rapid run through the field of bodies, remembering to pick up a gun on his way. Quickly spinning the Smith & Wesson 4013TSW in his fingers to get a feel for its grip, he loaded it, flicked the safety off, and rounded yet another corner.

Both pilots raised their weapons, even as they stared as one down the barrel of a Ruger P97D.

That pistol was suddenly lifted, and a hand displayed in its place. "Don't shoot, you guys! It's me!"

Quatre quickly lifted the barrel of the Bushmaster rifle, even as Trowa lowered his newly acquired pistol.

Duo flashed them a manic grin that shown bright and white from his smoke-blackened and smudged face. "Hey, Quatre! Nice outfit! Turn around a couple of times, neh?"

With a fruitful blush, the boy turned on his heel and began running back down the hall, calling out, "No time! Loose end needs taking care of!"

"Loose end?" Duo asked, glancing over at Trowa even as he slipped a filled magazine into his gun, leaving the empty cartridge on the floor.

"James Waverly."

"Oh…." Bowing his head, Duo sighed. "I got'cha."

00:12 Hours --

James simply arched a brow at Quatre's proclamation. "You won't? Just leavin' me to suffer instead?"

"You're creative. You can figure a way out of this."

Smirking, James shrugged with light-hearted ease. "Maybe, maybe. But this cell hasn't been altered for easy escape. They closed off that one."

"Sorry…"

"Hey, not your fault. It's bang-boy's fault for getting his lousy ass captured and giving that particular secret out."

Trowa snorted softly.

"You can get out of this, James."

"What? Sorry to see me in this position? Or recognizing that I'm a bit too vital to give up on yet?"

"Both," the blond admitted, smiling gently.

"Fine, fine. We'll see what I can do."

"Even if you have to reveal everything…"

"Hey, no worries, kid. That's what I've got in mind." Smirking, the man stretched as best as he could with his hands lashed behind his back. "After all, once they discover that I've been working for the Rebel Alliance and spyin' on their stupid asses for the last four years, they may just consider trying to plea-bargain with me. Service for them against my employers in exchange for my life."

"Four… years…?" Duo whispered quietly.

Trowa was simply staring, his eyes widened with disbelief.

"I'll inform H that you won't be contacting him for awhile."

"Thanks for covering my ass, kiddo."

Quatre smiled, lightly caressing the older man's cheek. "No problem."

Duo suddenly interrupted again, lightly tugging on both Trowa and Quatre's arms. "Um, guys? We need to go. Now."

"What's wrong?" Trowa and Quatre both asked in unison.

"I heard footsteps coming this way. We're gonna have company really damned soon."

_tbc..._


	23. Chapter XXIII

Ah, finally. Finished editing all of 'Once' so I can get it posted before we go out to sea. Last update until late July/early August, so I hope you enjoy!

Review replies! (and WOW! Thanks for over 50 reviews! (uncontrolled gushing) You like this story! That makes me so happy!):

MikaSamu: Ah, yet another person that's grown fond of James, eh? (sticks her tongue out at her best friend IRL who hates his arrogant guts and laughs) He's addicting. Due to the outcry when I flung this at the TQML, he HAD to be given a chance (death threats and all). I don't mind you being greedy; it encourages me to work! Here's the rest of the story – and you and the other reviewers have actually gotten me to work on the sequel again (it's been dead for a loooong time, so that's a shock).

GundamPilot03: I'm glad you're liking it still! Here's the rest, and more of this plot will appear when I get back from the briny blue.

YiyangYoung: Well, crunching out chapters quickly is easy to do when you're editing the crap out of preexisting stuff. Don't expect my next stories (with the exception of the first half of the sequel and 'Fall of Nobility' if you can bring yourself to read those) to come out nearly so quickly, as anything else actually requires me to sit and think rather than sit and critique my craptastic work. As for clarity on the three pseudo OZ soldiers, I can't say that we'll get any clarity and insight on them at all – until the sequel! (evil cackle) And as for the image of Trowa following vinyl-boy like a panting puppy, I couldn't help myself. (laughs)

Yurikitsune: Wow, a new reviewer! (and the one that put me over 50! (tackle, sloppy appreciative kiss)) I'm glad you're enjoying this story, and happy that you're finding my characterization to be in character (hard work to do that, you know)! Here's the rest of this story! (rings the announcing gong with all of her piddly might)

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

03:01 Hours --

Duo's rambunctious cackle of delight broke the almost melancholic silence that permeated the air.

"Hell yeah, finally out! And not a scratch to boot!"

His chuckle seemed to be contagious, as soon Quatre was giggling as well. Trowa allowed the smallest hint of a smile to tug at the corners of his lips as relief over their finally won freedom flowed through the stolen vehicle.

As if in celebration, Duo laid his foot heavily upon the accelerator of the car, racing down the road towards his destination. "Heh! Only about, what, twenty minutes or so and we're home! God, never thought I'd be looking so fucking forward to seeing your manor again, Quatre!"

"You said it," the blond boy breathed in reply, lounging easily in the passenger seat.

"I want to get back into that fluffy bed that occupies my room," Trowa contributed.

"Amen to that, man! Amen to that!"

Turning in his seat, Quatre smiled at Trowa who was currently reloading guns in the rear seat of the stolen convertible. "Glad to finally be out of there, neh?"

"Aa."

"You're actually smiling."

Trowa nodded. "I'm pleased you're safe, Quatre."

Closing his aquamarine eyes lightly, Quatre laughed.

Trowa was fighting every muscle in his body to resist the urge to ruffle the boy's wind-tousled hair.

04:13 Hours --

All three pilots stared as they walked into the room that held Quatre's chessboards.

It was completely ransacked.

00:15 Hours --

"What do you mean we're going to have company?" Trowa whispered, his voice bordering on, for him, hysteric concern.

"That's what I mean."

Sure enough shadows began to course the dark floor of the room, created by the sudden light that had appeared in the hallway beyond that lead to the mansion's barrack space.

Gunfire burst into the cellblock.

Immediately having hit the floor, Duo, Quatre and Trowa raised their gazes before firing back at their unexpected visitors.

Two men immediately toppled lifelessly down the stairs as an alarm buzzer rang, its monotone note echoing shrilly throughout the entirety of the compound's corridors and rooms. Red light flooded the room as the emergency lights throughout the structure flicked on, alerting all who had not heard the warning to the breech in security.

Duo and Quatre were instantly on their feet, each taking a side of the cell's door, firing into the hallway beyond. Trowa remained poised by the bound captive, his gun cocked, intent on protecting him if necessary.

'Quatre decided his life is worth saving. He decided not to end his existence at the risk of blowing our cover. If I let him get killed now…'

'Quatre would never forgive me.'

Lifting his gun, he contributed to the gunfight, blasting the hand off of a newly appeared guard who'd entered from one of the other two alternate entryways to the cellblock. The man had but a second to squeal before one more shot ended his life.

Trowa cast a glance back at the captive and scowled as he saw the man slump against the wall. Cracking open one hazel eye, James snarled, "Go! Protect him! If you remain here any longer, you're fucking dead… and if you leave it to Quatre to lead you out, you're gonna be stickin' here forever…" Grimly smiling, he coughed.

Arching a brow, the tall pilot frowned. 'Blood upon his lips. He's wounded internally. Let's see… yep. Shot right through the right side of his chest. Punctured a lung. Not fatal, but truly serious.'

"Quatre… sees it, he's going to…"

"Force us to stay here and defend you."

"Which'll kill me. I'll be better helped if you leave…. They won't want me dead yet… have yet to get anything valuable outta me…"

Trowa frowned as he heard the beginnings of gurgling infiltrating the man's voice. 'His lungs are starting to fill with blood. If we don't get out of here now, he won't get the medical attention he needs…' "Makes sense. I get your hint."

Carefully avoiding the few stray bullets that managed to make it past the paired defenders, Trowa roughly grabbed Quatre's arm. "We're leaving. Now."

"But…!" Quatre attempted to protest, even as he was yanked free of the cell.

"No time! Now!" Trowa said as he broke into a run, aiming for the one corridor out of the cellblock that he prayed was unguarded.

Sparing one glance back, the green-eyed pilot mentally sighed in relief as he noted that a team of the soldiers he was expecting to pursue them had remained behind to care for the wounded prisoner.

03:05 Hours --

Duo carefully angled the rear view mirror of the vehicle as he accelerated. A scowl immediately took his lips, canceling out his boisterous laughter.

"Trowa, look behind us."

Trowa turned in his seat.

"Please tell me that's not fucking pursuit I see back there."

"If I told you what you wanted to hear, I'd be lying."

Quatre eased away from Duo as the longest, most creative string of curses ever heard by the young Arab burst from his mouth like a river freed by a suddenly demolished dam.

Moments later, both Quatre and Trowa were holding onto the car's armrests and seats for dear life as Duo wrenched the car off the paved road in a desperate attempt to out maneuver and hopefully lose the distant OZ vehicles that were chasing them. Flicking off the car's headlights, he leaned over the steering wheel, racing blindly through the pitch black that dominated the world around them.

Trowa closed his eyes as he heard a faint, light voice whisper something softly that involved the word "Allah."

'Same here,' Trowa thought with a nod.

He barely remembered to duck when a piece of cactus flew by his head.

"Watch out for the native shrubbery, Duo."

"Fuck it!"

Thump.

04:14 Hours --

Slowly walking into the room, Duo stared around, his violet eyes huge upon his face. "What the fuck happened here?"

Trowa, meanwhile, was staring wide-eyed at the descended ceiling panel that hung cockeyed from its one intact support, the other having been snapped. The chandelier was in pieces, as was the glass table. Coral was lying scattered about the room, salt water soaking into the Persian rug and delicate reef fishes laid dead upon the ground. The computer terminal that the hidden panel had held was lying on its side on the ground, static dominating its screen, the keyboard that accompanied it snapped in half with its keys scattered aimlessly about the room with every chess piece that had previously been set up upon a board.

Quatre calmly walked over and picked up a pawn that had been carelessly scattered to the floor with the rest of his chess pieces when the tables and chairs had been overturned. Turning it over and over with his slender, pale fingers, he sighed softly. "Damn."

Trowa stared at Quatre. 'I can't believe he's remaining so calm!' Walking to the computer, he picked up the smashed remains of the keyboard, frowning. 'So much destruction… maybe out of frustration? Or…'

Quatre shrugged calmly. "Maybe they supposed that this would derail whatever I was planning. Like stripping the blueprints to a building away from the foreman in charge, thus halting construction, they seem to have been attempting to erase my plans."

"Have they?" Duo quietly whispered as he knelt, slowly picking up a shard of glass that was obviously once a part of the chessboard table.

"Hardly. I use the chessboard to visualize, not to plan. It's what's already in my head that matters. And there, I'm always seven steps ahead of what I have laid out."

03:11 Hours --

The Honda Civic De Sol bounced over rocks and bramble, powering its way as well as it could through the desert sands.

Their pursuit, being in Jeeps and SUVs, was easily catching up.

"Fucking hell! This damned car can't go any faster!"

"Duo, watch it!"

The braided boy screamed viciously in rage as he yanked at the little convertible's steering wheel and felt the car's unwillingness to respond to his commands. "Turn, you fucker!" he screamed one last time, right before they barreled hood first into a steeply swept sand dune.

All three piled out of the car and proceeded to run.

Turning back, Trowa opened fire with the rifle he'd remembered to bring from the car and fortunately reloaded.

After one vehicle detonated in a blaze of orange fury, he tore off after his comrades.

'Nine shots left with the .12 gauge. Then all I've got left is my 9mm, with its ten shots. Duo's got his ten shot 9mm. Quatre… I saw him load .50 caliber bullets into that thing, meaning he's only got seven. Thirty-six shots of ammunition against all of our pursuers?'

Trowa mentally groaned.

01:02 Hours --

Huffing and puffing, the three boys finally made it into the garage.

"Duo, get us a car. Quatre, get the bay door. I'll hold the hallway."

Quatre stared at Trowa for a few moments before nodding and running off to the nearest computer terminal. Sitting down in the chair at the desk, he cracked his knuckles and began typing feverishly away.

Trowa spared one final glance at the boy. 'How he's managed to fight and run in that outfit and not split a seam is beyond me…'

The roar of an engine interrupted his reverie. 'This quickly!'

Duo waved. "You don't mind a convertible, do ya? I don't have to bother with doors that way…"

Trowa shook his head as he watched the boy slip a knife into the folds of his braid and out of sight. "That'll be fine. Quatre?"

"Getting it!" came the harried shout.

"Just make it quick!"

"Yeah, yeah…"

The door swung open even as Trowa's pistol was emptied of its last shot.

"Hurry your ass up!" Duo shouted, even as Quatre vaulted into the car.

Running as the car began to peel out of the garage, Trowa barely managed to plop into the back seat as it raced out into the darkness of the predawn morning that dominated the desert beyond.

03:37 Hours --

Quatre staggered in the sand.

Catching him by his arm, Trowa pulled him as tenderly as he could back to his feet. After receiving a nod of affirmation that the boy could indeed stand again, he resumed his running along the sand.

'Of course he's tired. Coming out of that hell, coming away from… that… and now running through the desert in vinyl and combat boots…'

Suddenly, they were barreling down yet another sand dune.

And Trowa's feet were splashing in water.

"Stop!" Quatre shouted, grabbing Duo's braid to bring the other boy to a halt.

Trowa turned back to watch for their pursuit as Duo cursed a blue streak about his braid not being a leash.

Then Trowa heard a grumbling and grinding racket behind him. Turning one eye, he stared. Turning his body, he gaped.

Duo was already running down the stairs that had been revealed by the hydraulically powered platform that lifted a portion of the desert sand away.

Leaning against a palm tree that now seemed a bit more tilted than it had when they'd first arrived, Quatre winked. "Going below?"

"Aa."

Bolting down the stairs as quickly as he safely could, he turned and watched for his blond partner.

Quatre bounded away from the tree, which suddenly snapped upright. The panel began closing.

Trowa caught the smaller pilot in his arms as he ducked and rolled under the lowering lift, barely making it into the hidden passage without being crushed.

04:18 Hours --

Trowa sighed, staring at the disaster of a room. "The only problem is that they may have figured out what you were planning."

"Maybe. But then why destroy it all? Why not wait to see what move I would make, then attempt to use my strategies against me?"

Duo scowled. "My biggest concern isn't over the plan, the room, or none of this shit…"

"Hm?" Glancing over, Quatre raised a brow. Trowa quickly mimicked the move.

"It's that whoever did this is most likely still here."

A quiet groan interrupted their thoughts.

"The floor panel," Quatre softly hissed as Trowa yanked his gun from his holster and readied it.

Nodding, the taller pilot sneaked to the dropping portion of the floor that was once stationed below the chess table, and poked it with his gun. "How do you lift it?"

"The safety latch, right where that tear in the rug is."

Reaching into the tear, he felt the circular device, and gave it a good counter clockwise wrench. He brought his gun to bear as the floor panel dropped.

All three stared in disbelief as the grisly scene unveiled itself to their eyes.

Duo was the first to whisper, "Xavier…?"

The beaten, bloodied body didn't respond.

_tbc..._


	24. Chapter XXIV

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

13:00 Hours --

"Would you like another sandwich, Trowa?"

"Aa. Thank you, Quatre."

Reaching over, the Heavy Arms pilot lifted a ham and cheese sandwich from the plate carried by the young Arab and promptly stuffed it into his mouth.

Quatre giggled as he nodded, chewing. "You look like a chipmunk. Your cheeks are distended."

Trowa just grunted as he clicked the mouse that he held with his right hand.

"How's your search going?"

Trowa sighed quietly, shrugging his shoulders. "Nothing out of the ordinary yet. Reviewing the history of your security tapes doesn't help much. That bastard James stuffed the hole your camera's lens was stationed behind before he left."

"Damn…" Quatre whispered quietly, scratching his chin. "Wonder why?"

"Covering for his friends?"

"Or just being an ass. He's known for that kind of thing. He enjoys proving that he can outsmart every one around him."

"He must have hated working with you, then."

Quatre beamed at the compliment. "Thank you."

A few more moments of silence past as Trowa flicked through tape after tape of footage. Quatre leaned on the desk he was seated at facing Trowa. His arms crossed over his chest, he smirked. "This has got to be the most mind-numbing thing you've done lately, neh?"

Trowa let his eyes rove quickly over the tee shirt and jeans clad boy before shrugging. "It's got to be done."

"Aa, but it's so… boring. And it feels so unproductive!" Quatre sighed melodramatically, letting his head loll back on his neck and contented himself with huffing at the ceiling.

Trowa smirked slightly, shaking his head. "It won't be, once we find out what happened."

"I'll tell you what happened. One of those two ransacked that room to throw us off track."

Trowa arched a brow.

"I'm willing to bet that whatever you find on that video tape will be leading us down the wrong path to the true perpetrator."

"You really think so?"

"Trust me. I have a bad feeling about this. All of this."

15:15 Hours --

Duo stuffed another spoonful of vanilla ice cream in his mouth.

"Fuck no, he ain't conscious yet," he muttered.

Trowa barely managed to resist the urge to gag. 'It's so revolting when he talks with his mouth open. Ugh.' "Damn," is what made it between his lips, though, swiftly followed by, "Wonder if smelling salts would help. I'd like to question him.

"You and me both, buddy. I'm sick of all this reviewing security tapes, dusting for fingerprints, yadda yadda yadda. I mean, both of their fingerprints show all over the fucking place. Just like yours. And just like James. And mine, and Quatre's. Just what the fuck are we supposed to deduce from that, hm?"

"Fruitless path." Shaking his head, Trowa sighed. "That's what Quatre's saying the video surveillance tapes are going to uncover, as well."

"Only fucking recourse is the unconscious guy, and he's probably gonna lie his fool ass off."

"Hm." Scratching his chin, Trowa frowned. "What we really want to know is…."

"What happened in there and why, right?"

"Yeah. It's obvious who was behind it."

"Yep. Chad. 'Less, of course, Xavier half beat himself to death then threw himself down that service shaft, then managed to close the hatch before passing out." Duo rolled his eyes.

Trowa just scratched his chin. 'I wonder…'

'Maybe this isn't as clear-cut as it seems to be.'

16:21 Hours --

Trowa silently followed Quatre as the boy made his way downstairs into the manor's basement. "So, where are we going again?"

"The mainframe," Quatre replied with a casual shrug.

"And you're revealing this to me because…?"

"I need your help. I don't need to worry about you retracing my steps and breaking into the system without me knowing about it. There's no way anyone can enter this area without my consent. Spilling what'd down here to any enemy force will have no repercussions, as there's no way anyone can break in. My secrets guard themselves, and they do so well."

Trowa simply nodded, following as they walked to a non-descript segment of the west wall.

Quatre glanced through the aged bottles that rested upon their racks.

"Alcohol?"

Quatre giggled lightly. "Company, Trowa. You can't possibly think that I wouldn't have any consideration for those who visit my grounds who doesn't follow my faith, neh?"

"Of course." Slyly smirking, Trowa shook his head.

"Mmmmm… ah. Vintage Merlot, A.C. 22, Stewart Cellars winery. Wonderful batch that year, from what all of the critics say."

The taller boy nearly toppled over. "Um…. Aa." 'That bottle's worth a god forsaken fortune!'

Lifting it, the boy blew the dust off of the bottle, shrugged, and tossed it to Trowa. "Hold this a moment, will you?"

Trowa barely managed to keep from dropping the bottle, his fingers buttery and limp as he caught the thrown bottle. Turning his eyes to Quatre, he simply arched a brow.

The boy had his hand thrust in the wine rack, resting against the wall.

A beep sounded moments later, as did the grinding of stone against stone.

"You mind putting that back?" Quatre said as he walked away from the wine rack and began to cross the cellar.

Doing as he had been bid, Trowa followed, then stared at what had created the grinding noise he'd heard earlier.

A section of the south wall had lifted, revealing a keypad and a handprint scanner.

Resting his left hand upon the scanner, he carefully typed what sounded to be a twenty-digit number into the pad. Standing perfectly still, he stared at the wall.

Trowa's eyes narrowed slightly. 'Retina scan for identification? No wonder he said that no one's getting in without his consent.'

Another beep, accompanied by a computerized voice crooning "Identify Confirmed. Welcome, Quatre Raberba Winner" sounded. More grating filled the still atmosphere as the wall beside the keypad slid out of place, revealing a brightly lit and metal-lined hallway beyond.

15:18 Hours --

"I just want to know what gives you the impression that this Waverly character is fully clear of suspicion."

Shrugging, Trowa frowned. "I don't believe that. It's Quatre's impression. We can only trust his judgement."

"Trust 'Mr. Sleeps-with-the-enemy,' eh?"

Trowa felt his fist clench entirely of its own accord. "Yes."

Shrugging, Duo sighed. "Damn it all to Hell, I say… just explain why we don't just tromp on their sorry rear ends and get this over with. I mean, yes, Quatre's got this whole theory bit going about the Romefeller Foundation and how predicting their moves'll make it billions of times easier on us, so we aren't second guessing what OZ is up to, but I mean, come on! He's got what he needs, so why don't we just trash their asses for this crap and get on with what we're supposed to be doing?"

"Do you ever breathe?"

"Shut the fuck up. Just answer the question!"

Trowa shrugged. "It's entirely up to him. Maybe striking now is a bad idea."

"And why the hell would it be a bad idea!" Duo shouted, waving his arms around.

"Duo, think about it. We still don't know who was behind this, or why they've done what they've done. We don't know how much information they've retrieved off of Quatre's computers."

"And so?"

"Haven't you realized where your mission orders have been coming from?"

Duo's violet eyes nearly rolled from his head. "You've got to be kidding me…."

Trowa just shook his head.

"So… if they got in, like it looks like they did…"

"They know exactly what we've been scheduled to do for, oh, approximately our next ten missions. Each. All of us. Including you."

"Meaning defenses'll be up."

"Meaning we'll be killed."

"FUCK!" Snarling, the braided boy punched the table. Lifting his hand, he growled at the blood that was beginning to seep out of his cracked knuckles.

"Which, I think, is why Quatre wants to lay low for the moment and figure out exactly what happened. He wants to know who's responsible, who they're working for, and what their intentions are."

16:29 Hours --

Trowa stared about his surroundings, completely enraptured with fascination. 'These walls are crafted from solid Titanium alloy, aren't they?' he thought to himself.

"Gundanium reinforced. We shipped the panels down from MO III before we shut that facility down."

Trowa stared at the blond boy.

"We're here," Quatre quipped, ignoring the questioning look that was being grilled onto him by the other pilot. Touching yet another keypad, he typed in another password, finished another retina scan and watched as yet another door opened.

Trowa stared in awe as they stepped through.

He was facing a wall of computer monitors.

Quatre slipped into the only seat in the room without waiting for Trowa to come to his senses, and folded his hands in his lap. "Computer, login identification: Quatre Raberba Winner. Recognize voice print, password: This is my cheesy password."

The computer beeped. "Identification confirmed."

All the monitors came to life.

"Show activity log of all terminals located on grid B 97 for the last 30 hours."

Mesmerized, the emerald-eyed boy simply stood behind Quatre, his hands unconsciously finding resting places upon the platinum-haired pilot's shoulders as each screen began to rapidly scroll numbers, IPs and file transfer logs.

"They got the mission logs."

Trowa hung his head.

18:49 Hours --

It was turning out to be a disturbingly silent dinner.

But, of course, that doesn't last for long when Duo Maxwell and Quatre Winner are seated in the same room for any determinable length of time.

"So they got the logs, eh? Fuck…"

"No big deal, really. I've just disabled my autosend. No one'll receive what has been stolen."

"Meanin' their reinforcements'll be sitting around on their asses with nothin' to do, seein' as how we'll never be showin' up?"

"Yep!"

"Well, that's a good thing." Duo shoved another fork full of spaghetti into his mouth, chewing happily. "Ya know, I love your chefs. You say 'God damn it, I want spaghetti! I'm sick of this weird Middle-Eastern crap!' and they say, 'We are greatly sorry, Duo-sama! How would you like us to prepare tonight's dish to better please you?' Heh. Great."

'God, Duo, stop talking with your mouth full,' Trowa silently seethed, munching on his dinner even though he was quickly losing his appetite.

"Um, Duo? Favor."

"What, Quatre?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full. It's gross."

"Oh! Shit, I'm sorry." Laughing, he made certain to fully chew and swallow his next mouthful before speaking again. "Sometimes I don't even realize I'm doin' that. Just tryin' to get two things done at once… fill the stomach and shout out what my brain's screamin', you know?"

Quatre giggled. Trowa simply nodded his thanks.

Finally, the taller boy included himself in the conversation. "If we are going to alter our mission plans, this pilfering of our prior plots may work to our advantage. If they reallocate all of their troops, their other strongholds will be relatively unprepared and under-protected."

"Take out the weak links, make 'em panic like hell? Good strategy…"

"Save it won't work."

Both pilots stared at the blond. "Nani?" they questioned in unison.

"I was already planning to alter our mission logs. Romefeller's objective is altering the plan."

Trowa narrowed his eyes. "Tell us more."

"No can do until I have everything figured out. For now, we'll just have to leave things to fate, neh?"

Leaning back in his chair, Duo groaned, stretching until his back audibly popped. "I don't like the sound of that, Quatre."

"Neither do I. But there's nothing more we can do at the moment."

"Especially seeing as how we still don't know who our enemies are, and what they're planning. Certainly they knew that we'd alter our mission logs when we discovered that.…"

Duo's words trailed into silence.

Trowa nodded slowly, before resting his chin in the palm of his hand. "Damn."

_tbc…_


	25. Chapter XXV

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

22:43 Hours --

Trowa stared down the sites of his gun, keeping the forehead of his steadily approaching target perfectly centered in his line of vision. The blaring of the alarms above and around him and the glistening red light that filled the hallways beyond the stairwell that lead to the cellar he was standing in and filtered throughout the room didn't cause him to so much as blink as he stared the intruder down. "Stop," Trowa growled.

Still, the stumbling man approached without hesitation. The only thing that seemed to be slowing him down was the dragging of his toes along the concrete floor below him.

"Stop, or I'll shoot," Trowa warned one final time, squinting his eye as he peered along his pistol's barrel.

Chad Lesley apparently either did not hear him or was not listening, continuing to walk towards him with his dark eyes wide and unseeing. Light trickles of sweat ran down through his moustache, the perspiration making his face glisten in the faint light thrown by the lamps of the hallway upstairs.

Trowa cocked the gun, staring into the portly man's eyes.

He paused, his eyes widened in shock.

'He looks just like…'

19:58 Hours, 9 Days Ago --

Trowa stared as the summer sky slowly faded with the onset of night.

He could see the explosions from where he was laying.

Graceful fireballs arched towards the heavens, long tendrils of flame like fingers as they sought to grasp the sky above.

A knocking at the door startled him.

His hand was immediately before him and gripping the gun that Quatre had left as he found himself already on his feet and hiding behind the door. He waited patiently.

The knocking sounded again. "Message for Trowa," a voice softly said, its tone distant and inattentive.

Ripping the door open, Trowa blindly reached out with his free hand and gripped. Coming in contact with fabric, he dragged the body of whoever was clothed in said fabric into the room and slammed the door shut again. His gun instantly at the person's forehead, his eyes narrowed, the boy snorted.

OZ soldier.

Browens.

He recognized his face from the interrogation cell.

"Message for Trowa," he repeated, his voice still distant and faint.

"Speak," Trowa demanded.

The man slowly blinked, then extended his hand, offering Trowa a sheet of paper that was tinged with soot and blood.

22:44 Hours --

'He looks just like that other OZ soldier…'

02:06 Hours, 8 Days Ago --

"But still, I feel rotten about it…"

"He would have betrayed us anyway. You know that."

"Yeah. Stop being so hard on yourself. He was getting himself slaughtered on his lonesome."

"… Hai."

"You can't be letting a small setback like this upset you so much, man. So some news leaked to Bradshaw, and Browens had to be sacrificed. Hell, you gave him a better end than he could ever have hoped to meet…"

"Enough! I've heard enough…."

Trowa simply frowned, his finger remaining firmly upon the receiver pressed into his ear canal.

22:45 Hours --

Emerald eyes nearly rolling out of his head, Trowa lowered the gun before pulling the trigger.

The shot rang loudly through the cellar, its echo drowning out even the wailing of the alarm system.

Holstering his gun, Trowa walked over to Chad Lesley to check the man's wound.

The man named Chad was wailing in pain, clutching his leg. Blood oozed between his fingers as he tightly grabbed his thigh in a vain attempt to stem the flow of the vital liquid that rushed from the clean puncture wound that ran through his flesh.

Shaking his head, Trowa yanked the man's belt off his body and quickly secured it around his leg to create a makeshift tourniquet. Pulling it as tightly closed as he possibly could, he nodded. "Keep pressure on it," Trowa muttered to the man.

Chad glowered at him, his face completely animate with emotion for the first time since Trowa had seen him in the dirty little in-town club over a week ago. "Why the hell did you shoot me!" he snarled.

"You were attempting to pass me. I had to stop you."

"I was? Don't lie to me, boy…" Letting his head fall back, Chad whimpered, his shiny face pale, his lips loosely open as he attempted to calm his breathing.

"I'm not."

"I don't even know how I got down here!"

20:02 Hours, 9 Days Ago --

"Message for Trowa," he repeated, his voice still distant and faint.

"Speak," Trowa demanded.

The man slowly blinked, then extended his hand, offering Trowa a sheet of paper that was tinged with soot and blood.

'Huh?' Trowa's free hand claimed the sheet immediately.

The soldier seemed to start at this, and rubbed his head, closing his eyes, his voice stronger and more clearly identifiable as that of the soldier called 'Browens' as he said, "What the hell… where am I?"

22:46 Hours --

Green eyes opened wide, he stared at the gasping and whimpering OZ soldier.

'It's so similar. It's TOO similar.'

'Quatre…'

02:07 Hours, 8 Days Ago --

"You can't be letting a small setback like this upset you so much, man. So some news leaked to Bradshaw, and Browens had to be sacrificed. Hell, you gave him a better end than he could ever have hoped to meet…"

22:47 Hours --

'Quatre will understand what's going on. It's time he explained this.'

Trowa frowned.

'It's time he explained everything.'

19:48 Hours --

"He's awake!" Duo's voice screamed from upstairs.

Instantly, Quatre was on his feet and tearing up the stairwell, heading towards the bedroom chamber that held the previously comatose body of Xavier Johnson within its confines.

Trowa sat for a moment, watching the boy run off, his brain in an entirely different realm of reality.

Currently, he was reflecting on the fact that the front of his chest was getting cold without Quatre leaning against him any longer.

'Damn it.'

Then he paused.

'Duo said he's awake. Questioning time.'

Trowa was up like a flash as well, tromping up the stairs into the bedroom.

Stepping into the room, he walked over towards the large, plush bed that dwarfed the adult man who laid upon it. Staring without emotion at the beaten, pale form of Xavier Johnson, he crossed his arms over his chest as he came to a halt behind Quatre, who was kneeling at the bed side with his hands resting near that of the OZ soldier. Duo, leaning against the wall, seemed to be keeping a careful watch over the entire gathering.

"Xavier?" Quatre whispered softly, lightly touching the man's arm.

"Ungh," the man said, his eyes remaining closed to the world.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like warmed over shit. Can I get some more rest, please? Head hurts… just woke up for some water…"

"Oh. Alright." Nodding, Quatre rose and walked towards Duo. Lightly laying his hand upon the braided boy's arm, he nodded and slowly pushed him towards the door.

Trowa remained by the bedside, having noted the look that was shining in the depths of Quatre's eyes, barely hidden by the false mirrors of tears and sorrow.

'You want me to question him? Great.'

Leaning over the bed, Trowa frowned. "You're going to tell me what happened."

"After some shut-eye, alright?"

"No," Trowa snarled quietly. "Now. I want to know what happened."

Xavier coughed deeply, before turning his gaze away from the boy's face. "Lesley."

"Betrayed you?"

"Betrayed us all."

"Clarify."

Groaning quietly, Xavier turned back to face Trowa, his pale face contorted with pain that rocketed through his frame. "He's not working for Quatre. Not even for OZ. He's working for Kesslinger."

Trowa narrowed his eyes. 'Kesslinger. That sounds familiar.'

03:45 Hours, 8 Days Ago --

Trowa was slowly beginning to develop one heck of an ache in his jaw from clenching it so hard for so very long.

Over an hour later, and Quatre was still seated at that mysterious man's table.

Trowa's brain calmly relayed the information he'd gathered from the bug he'd planted on Quatre's shirt across his mind's eye.

The man's name was Gregory. He was a friend of James Waverly. He was also affiliated with Douglas, whoever that was. He was working as a computer consultant and had been called in to check out some sort of security breech and a virus that couldn't be repaired. He was usually stationed out on the eastern seaboard of the continent of North America, but had been ordered to travel out here to assist in repairing and reestablishing the network that had apparently been broken into by Rebel forces.

08:20 Hours --

"Answer my question." Trowa's eyes narrowed into dangerous emerald slits.

"Fine. But I don't believe you're going to like the answer."

Trowa silently awaited Xavier's revelation.

Sighing softly, the soldier turned his gaze to the television, folding his hands in his lap. "He's with Channok. Gregory Channok. An affiliate of Douglas Kesslinger, friend of Col. Tuberoff."

'Gregory….'

20:57 Hours --

Trowa crossed his arms as he walked once more into the bedroom that housed Xavier Johnson. "I trust you're rested enough to speak now," he said.

Arching a brow, Xavier struggled into a partially upright position and flashed a wane ghost of his usually cockeyed and cheerful grin. "Statement, not a question. Sure, sure. I'm well enough."

"Then tell me about Chad Lesley."

Plopping back onto his bed, Xavier sighed quietly. "He was the one behind everything. Didn't even see it coming, you know. He had me thoroughly convinced that it was James who'd infiltrated us."

"Why would he infiltrate his own organization?"

Snorting, Xavier looked over at him. "Don't give me that shit. James told you, didn't he?"

"Told me what?" Trowa arched a brow.

Chuckling, Xavier shrugged. "Guess he didn't. Oh well. Was liable to get out sooner or later."

"What was liable to get out?"

"The fact that we're spies for the Rebels, not the Alliance, OZ, or Romefeller."

Trowa narrowed his eyes. 'That's exactly what James said, isn't it?'

00:14 Hours --

"Hey, no worries, kid. That's what I've got in mind." Smirking, the man stretched as best as he could with his hands lashed behind his back. "After all, once they discover that I've been working for the Rebel Alliance and spyin' on their stupid asses for the last four years, they may just consider trying to plea-bargain with me. Service for them against my employers in exchange for my life."

"Four… years…?" Duo whispered quietly.

Trowa was simply staring, his eyes widened with disbelief.

"I'll inform H that you won't be contacting him for awhile."

"Thanks for covering my ass, kiddo."

Quatre smiled, lightly caressing the older man's cheek. "No problem."

20:59 Hours --

Trowa sighed softly. "So what is your purpose here?"

Xaiver stared at the ceiling. "Since my cover's fully blown, you want me to tell all, eh?"

"You got it."

Closing his brown eyes, Xavier began to mutter quietly, "We were here to assist Quatre with his infiltration of the Romefeller society. Our mission was to discover their ultimatums and keep current on their objectives, as to better deduce the movements of OZ and to predict the actions of the Earth Sphere Alliance that would be derived in reaction to OZ's moves. To get this information to those who are in charge of your little guerilla war here on Earth so they could better direct you and assist you in winning this thing."

"Really."

"Yeah. Quatre communicates regularly with them. It's his strategies that are evaluated by them and forwarded on to you. Lately, he's just gotten approval to do as he wants… use their IPs and all to move you on his own… but that really has nothing to do with us."

"Continue on Lesley."

"Looks like he's working for the guy Quatre was after. Kesslinger's one of the guys who works directly with the Foundation. Knowing what he's up to is like knowing exactly what they're planning to do with themselves, because he's that incredibly influential."

"So he tried to kill you?"

"Chad must've figured it out. That James and I were on to him. So while you were gone, he tried to off me. Think he was also after Quatre's plans, too. We've been together, the four of us, since Blondie was fourteen. He knows the kid's in charge. He knows that the mainframe holds all the keys to what the Foundation could possibly ever want to know about the future movements of the Gundams. I tried to stop him, but I'm no match for him. Bulldozed me right over."

Trowa frowned, gripping on every word that spilled from Xavier's bruised jaws.

He left the room only after the man had passed out once more from the drugs that coursed through his body combined with the battering he'd received earlier.

22:56 Hours --

With all of the commotion, it didn't take long for the other two Gundam pilots to make their way to the cellar. Duo had immediately taken to getting Chad to a room and getting someone to attend to his wound. Trowa stopped Quatre, and held his arm as everyone slowly filtered out of the room, following the braided pilot and his charge.

Trowa stared at Quatre long and hard.

Quatre stared right back, refusing to give into the suggestion to squirm. "What, Trowa?"

"Tell me everything."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because… I don't know everything."

"Then you're going to tell me what you DO know."

Quatre sighed quietly. "I promise you I will. But right now… this isn't the time for it."

"Then answer one question."

"Yes?"

Trowa frowned, and quickly described the encounter he'd had with Browens over a week ago. Quatre, predictably nodded, but appeared genuinely shocked when Trowa snarled that Chad had the same glazed look in his eye and had surprisingly similar behavioral patterns.

"What did you do, Quatre?"

"I did nothing to Chad!"

Trowa's eyes narrowed.

Bowing his head, Quatre sighed. "It's an experimental drug. Truth serum. You're familiar with that?"

Nodding, the green-eyed boy frowned.

"Enhance it. Double the molar strength."

"It would kill the person you administer it to, Quatre. The acids in that serum would eat right through their veins."

"Not if you stabilize it with an alkaline base."

"Really."

"Yes. That's how it's done. That's what it is. And what it does is open the victim to suggestion."

"Brainwash in a syringe?"

"Aa. It numbs the brain, slows the thinking process, but leaves your mobile functions intact. It allows you to force another to carry out simple tasks. And, with their thoughts slowed to the point of being nonresistant…"

"You mean it's liquid-mind-control?"

"Basically."

Laying a hand on Quatre's shoulder, he frowned. "Both you and I know that isn't possible. You aren't telling me the truth."

Quatre's aquamarine eyes flew open as he stared at Trowa.

"Just tell me, Quatre."

Lowering his gaze, he sighed softly. "I wasn't lying about the serum. It does, indeed, numb the mind and make a person susceptible to suggestion."

"However?"

"It doesn't completely lower the barriers of the brain. That's impossible."

"So how does it work? How would you control another mind?"

"You…"

Trowa nearly snarled in frustration.

Catching the hint, Quatre gulped. "It only works with those who are gifted. Gifted with abnormally strong psychowave presence."

"Meaning?"

"The mind-controlling application of that particular drug only works for newtypes."

23:31 Hours --

Duo glanced up as the other two pilots finally arrived in the room that currently provided shelter for both him and Chad. "Finally decided to join us, eh?"

Quatre shrugged solemnly as Trowa nodded. They both walked to the edge of the bed.

Chad looked at them with weak, wild eyes. His gaze settled in particular upon Quatre.

"Tell me," Quatre whispered softly.

"You're not the only one around here."

"Not the only one strong enough to utilize it?"

"No."

Quatre bowed his head. "He was using you for cover, wasn't he?"

Chad slowly nodded.

"And by now, he's made his escape."

Duo and Trowa looked at one another before bursting from the room as one.

"No fuckin' way!" Duo wailed as they broke the door to Xavier's room open.

Trowa grimaced, looking at the empty bed.

_tbc..._


	26. Chapter XXVI

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

_-BEGIN FIC-_

14:05 Hours --

Trowa leaned upon the armrest of his seat, his elbow upon the cool padded leather that wrapped the metal device and his chin nestled in the palm of his hand. Flat green eyes stared out of the thick double-paned window, staring at the two pilots who stood beyond the gates that separated them from the asphalt that made up the plane's docking pad and the runways that coursed through the desert in this remote region.

It had been a week since the disappearance of Xavier Johnson and the murder of Chad Lesley.

00:00 Hours --

Trowa stared at the bedroom door that blocked his view of their only remaining OZ prisoner.

It had been a half an hour since he and Duo had discovered the empty bed that once used to be occupied by Xavier Johnson.

Reaching out with a slender, steady hand, Trowa turned the doorknob. It opened easily, as expected. Chad, after all, wasn't in any sort of condition to rise from his bed and lock the door on his own.

Closing his eyes, Trowa pushed the door open.

The stench of blood immediately hit his nostrils.

Eyes flying open, Trowa stared.

The OZ soldier laid upon his bed, surrounded by a dark stain that shown black in the faint light of the moon that poured through the nearby window.

Flicking on the light, the black puddle shined red.

Closing his eyes once more, Trowa sighed.

Chad Lesley's head had been cleanly removed from his body and was sitting, propped upright, upon the pillow with a yellow sticky note attached to the top of his skull with a staple.

Walking calmly over, Trowa let his eyes drift open once more, taking in the grisly scene and the message written on the paper settled upon the abused body's scalp: 'Read me, Blockhead!'

Plucking it, he stared at the back of the note for anything further. He was rewarded.

'Sorry about the mess, but Chad wasn't loyal either. He was going to run to Bradshaw and spill everything that he'd learned here, working in correlation with Xavier.'

A groan tugged its way past Trowa's lips, even as he shook his head and laid the note back down.

08:22 Hours --

Trowa frowned, listening to Quatre.

"Kesslinger is the key to success. To know his mind is to know the mind of the Foundation. Word is that he's the ear-piece and brain behind Dermail's maneuvers."

"So that's why you've been trying to learn about him."

"I've been trying his affiliates since the self-destruct attempt that Heero pulled off." Ignoring Duo's small, discouraged sigh, Quatre continued. "It was then that I realized that the OZ organization, directed by the Romefeller Foundation, was seeking not an end to the tyranny of the Alliance as they've promoted, but rather to replace them in power to bring their constituents under their wings and sap off of the economic revenue that would be generated for them. The added boost in financial power would fund further mobile suit production,"

"And make total control of the colonies by force a feasible option."

"Correct. However, due to recent events and the obvious display of hostility towards their previously planned methods by the colonies as displayed through the Gundam attacks, they've changed their strategy. And it's because of this change that I've been attempting to learn all I can of the man who's been behind their most recent developments."

"The Mobile Doll system?"

"That, and the sudden change in their attack patterns. It's more like they're attempting to let us fade into oblivion, ignoring us while we reap havoc upon their stronghold. Like they're deliberately focusing their attention and resources to another endeavor."

"Hm."

"Knowing their intentions is the only way to know how to deal with them. As we've seen, they've already gained partial control of space… I just want to know what they intend to do with it."

"And for that, you needed Kesslinger."

"Yes. And for him, I tried to maneuver through Browens, who was a member of the Foundation Council and through Channok, who is an associate of Kesslinger's. I've been trying to figure out what he's planned, what he's leaked, what he's discovered, what he's tested…"

"Any success?"

"Some." With a mild, humble shrug, the boy sipped his coffee.

"And so now what are you planning?"

"Now I have to wait."

Trowa arched a brow.

"I have to see their next move before I act. That's all. I just fear that my lack of information about the way their planning to obtain their goals may send us astray once again. And considering the current attitude of space, I fear what the repercussions of another failed maneuver will bring us."

14:11 Hours --

Trowa glanced up as the airplane staff slowly filtered in, making certain that everyone already seated in the first class cabin were comfortable.

His eyes locked onto the captain who was attempting to make it into the plane's cockpit.

The bespectacled man turned his way, as if sensing that the Gundam pilot's gaze rested upon him. Sunglasses glittering as the sun's harsh light spilled through windows, the man tugged the brim of his cap down slightly and flashed a sinister smirk at him.

Eyes widened, Trowa watched as the man turned, tossing loose, long brown hair behind his shoulders and attempted to make his way through the crowd, favoring his right side.

12:41 Hours --

The three boys sat around the table, slowly eating lunch.

"I just wonder who did it," Duo muttered between mouthfuls of Chef Boyardee Ravioli.

"James," Quatre said with a shrug before he took a sip of tea.

"You really think so?" Trowa questioned, arching a brow.

"But how could he? He was shot!" Duo exclaimed, waving his spoon at his friend.

"Ever hear of bulletproof vests?"

"The bleeding out of his mouth?"

"Bit down on his tongue. Good rouse."

Trowa stared, as did Duo.

The first to break the silence, the self-proclaimed incarnation of Shinigami snorted. "But they had him locked in a cell, Quatre. Why the fuck would they leave a bulletproof vest on him?"

Quatre blinked. "Trowa, did they touch your clothing when they captured you?"

"No. They just patted me down for guns and knives."

Duo shrugged. "But he wasn't wearing a vest, was he?"

"Yes."

Quatre smirked. "They make them thin enough these days to wear without noticeable bulk or stiffness underneath tee-shirts, Duo."

Duo just stared at his raviolis, frowning. "I see…. Then why the hell did we risk going down in the first place?"

"I'd wanted to confirm that he had a way out."

13:47 Hours --

Trowa stiffened slightly as Quatre wrapped his arms around him and laid his head upon his shoulder.

"I'll miss you," the blond boy whispered, his warm breath tickling Trowa's neck.

Remaining silent, the taller pilot just nodded slightly.

Straightening his stance, a wide smile upon his face, Quatre shrugged. "Say hello to Heero for me, will you?"

"Sure thing."

Duo's eyes immediately widened. "Heero…!"

"Survived. I've been trying to tell you that since last week, Duo," Trowa said, not a single hint of the amusement he was feeling seeping into his voice.

Violet orbs watering, the boy broke out with a true, genuine smile as he also embraced Trowa in a hug. Squeezing him, he simply nodded, silent for once.

A few awkward minutes later, Duo backed away, swallowed harshly, and grinned. "You tell him he's a fucking idiot for making me worry, and that I'm going to chew his ass out when we meet again."

The corners of Trowa's lips curled into a slight smirk. "You've got it."

10:52 Hours --

Trowa followed the rough, angry notes through the halls, finally coming to arrive in the familiar music room. Walking to the seats he and Quatre had sat in last time he'd been in the manor, he lowered himself into the comfortable cushions and contented himself to listen.

The piece that was currently being played, its notes roughly pounded one minute then whimpered by sad, slow fingers, had no need for flute accompaniment.

Rising as Quatre's fingers slowly left the piano's keyboard, Trowa silently went to the boy's side.

And stared.

"How is it that you play four staves at once?"

Smiling, Quatre shrugged lightly. "It just jumped through different octaves, Trowa. See? If you wrote it all upon two, it'd be overly cluttered. This is just for ease of reading it. It's not all that difficult to play."

'Prelude in c-sharp minor? Tough key. And Rachmaninoff was insane when he wrote his music. Not difficult, my ass.'

"What do you want to know, Trowa? You sought me out for a reason."

Trowa watched as the boy's nimble fingers flipped through his tattered sheet music, apparently searching for yet another appropriate piece. "Nope. I just wanted to listen to you play."

Quatre smiled tenderly, before leaning back again. "Then what do you want to hear?"

"Can you play 'Rustles of Spring'?"

"Ah! By Sinding? That's one of my favorite pieces."

Music soon enveloped them again, temporarily driving the dark atmosphere that had permeated the Winner manor of late away with its rapid races of cascading notes.

Trowa couldn't help but smile, his hands unconsciously finding the other boy's shoulders and remaining there for the rest of the song.

Glancing back as he lifted his hands once more, Quatre sighed. "You're going back, aren't you?"

"I've got my plane tickets. I leave this afternoon."

"I understand. You need to return to your duties, otherwise you'll be suspected."

"Aa."

Nodding, Quatre turned back to the piano.

Trowa's heart wrenched as the boy's slow, stiff fingers slid over the keys, allowing Chopin's 'Prelude in b minor' to ooze from the grand piano's soundboard.

'It's just like that time we played. He always plays from the heart. He always plays with such emotional attachment to the pieces he picks, whether they're from his own imagination or from a sheet.'

'Why is he playing something so depressing?'

'Why is he so upset?'

'And why am I feeling the same?'

14:20 Hours --

Trowa's eyes remained steadfastly focused on the blond haired boy in the crowd that had gathered outside of the gate and was waiting for the plane's departure.

He softly gasped as his eyes read the message the boy's lips were forming.

'I love you.'

07:46 Hours, 10 Days Ago --

Sliding his finger under the flap, he broke the flimsy glue seal and drew the note out that was within. He slowly unfolded it, then let his eyes rove over the message. After a few moments, those roving eyes widened considerably.

"Login: Quatre Raberba Winner Password: H-ArmsP-TB03falseUNK"

-- 14:21 Hours --

'Heavy-Arms Pilot Trowa Barton, denomination 03. False identity, real identity unknown. He knew of my deception, yet….'

-- 19:45 Hours, 9 Days Ago --

"I love you."

Trowa felt his eyes widen as he stared at the screen. Glancing back over it, he rubbed his eyes, making certain he wasn't seeing things.

The message on the screen didn't change.

"I love you."

-- 13:50 Hours --

As Duo turned away to cover his weakness with a hanky and blow his nose, Quatre smiled. "We'd forgotten to tell him," he whispered.

"Oops."

Trowa felt Quatre's arms snake back around his waist one more time.

"You keep yourself safe, OK?"

Trowa nodded.

"I love you."

Trowa turned to face Quatre, his lips parting.

"All first-class Passengers, please report to boarding gate 14. All first-class passengers, boarding gate 14, please," the announcer's loudspeaker squealed.

With a smile, Quatre lightly patted Trowa's shoulder. "Take care. Call me to let me know you've gotten home safely, neh?"

Trowa nodded, even as he was ushered towards the gate, checked in, and shoved by pale, thin hands through the boarding gate and towards the plane.

By the time he'd turned back to speak to the boy, he'd been swept up in the crowd and was now being herded up onto the escalator that would bring him to the plane.

14:23 Hours --

Trowa blinked as the plane began to roll away, taking his view of the blond boy away from his eyes.

Blinking once more, Trowa felt an odd sensation upon his cheek.

Lifting a finger, he touched it, then stared at his fingertip.

It glistened with wetness in the dim cabin lights.

Sighing, he wiped his eyes before returning his gaze to the outside world.

'You told me so many times, Quatre…'

'And I couldn't tell you.'

'I couldn't tell you that I love you.'

'Not even once…'

_-end-_

'_Once' terminated_

_plot to be continued_

_commence 'Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness'…_


End file.
